Amidst traffic’s rasp stolid glass towers stand splotched in shimmering 

pre-dawn lustrous pink crystalline 

glitter mingling with some   new color, some 

sublimely elusive gray wane—street-level 

revelation

of cadence of echoing square windows that simply ascend and 

numb, some 

sleek clear wattle and daub filter 

scanned for the fateful grace of the fulfilled 

fool whose clockwork rucks surge and thrive 

driven to a stumbled crush by the luminescent translucence of a stellar mirage

pocked with silhouettes:

ad venture sirens’ insidious rhythms trying to heel 

destiny to the timing

of a blasé jingle lauding the newly  

plundered—regardless, thralls 

prevail and at the behest of the neon green 

totem of agony

bow down. Dare I 

chance it? 

Dare I     

at last

buck the design?


Matthew Nelson is a Dallas native.