A Slender Yellow on the Glass

Acid pelts the Business Park,
rust rushes the gutter;
ever spiraling echoes to my ears.
Oxymoron here.
No child flies a kite, or feeds a duck,
buildings unimagined,
but for barren autumn acres.

Mantis on a pane,
cruel angles and bends
and yellow secretion.
Head of three sides,
beast, but for size.
Eyes, compound and vacant,
I touch my finger to glass.

Sea green thunder clap,
I flinch while she remains
expressionless.
Empty hands in prayer,
in full anticipation
the coming winter,
the still of nothingness.