What They Want 
  
Dusk winding open along the road
turned devious through the onslaught
of fragmentation, thoughts too splintered
these days any longer to find the right words,
the way to continue making sense of  this.
Or who to pray to now who could
turn back the clock.
 
In the sky, at my back
the clouds were shifting,
forming shapes that dissolved
into puddles the next day.
 
And the hills of  these streets,
a killer to the muscles in your legs.
The concrete of this building,
doomed and razed, demanding refusal
to go down with the ship.