Only the wind rides the big dipper.
|There is a cold wind that whispers
Twisting through rusting girders
Twining around iron rivets,
To the nadir of the run.
Here it pants a panic before a
Then hitches a ratchet up and up,
Rising slowly, slower, to the zenith and
Pausing before a speeding descent
It roars down
Sucked up into
The next climb, the next peak,
Cresting a standstill it raises its hands
And slides over, a dizzying drop,
It howls with an empty throat
It throws its forgotten
To live in decaying cars
Forever waiting for the start
That never comes.