The blazing necklace curls
around the concrete neck
of freeway; each steel bead
cocoons a hidden life.
The absence of moving
makes thinking- an inward,
tortured game of feeling
trapped in line on LA 405.
From east to west the metal
birds descending steady, low,
lights blinking in the foggy night
then disappear behind the bridge
as taxi cabs, angry honking ducks
file slowly off the airport exit,
feathers clipped and tucked
tight against their yellow breasts.
A limousine, an open hood
fuming black smoke and steam,
the driver pacing penquin in
armani suit and cellular extreme.
A sudden surge, a stroke of luck
the furtherst lanes loosened up,
the mind returns to rush, to speed
home to El Segundo.
