Stainless steel jail stool pivots 90 degrees
Or is it 89…oh yeah! Protractor confiscated strip search short succinct swivel
  Standing, looking out barred windows taller than a chocolate-cream painted cement floor
above colonized dust tumble needs, lofty pubic hair, tired shoes
  microscopic phone book remnants
  Outside traffic, silent from here, mentally 33,000 feet
  Cars swerve, steer, missing schizophrenic wheel chair pedestrians
  Late for work, competing with bee drones in withdrawal
  rabid sheep stealing corporate Friday’s car slots
  reeling aft intoxication
breath short and stalled
  ruing that morning’s chaotic alarm clock
  captivating photogenic madness in the civil dawn
  Six degrees late racing for the day’s Great American toil dream
  “Gonna be rough! So, get back home!  Soon!”
  Outdoors, utter lunacy and serenity flee oncoming traffic
  Telegraphed accident, cellular slumber, rush-minute magic
  Stimuli flashing back
   acid-test station changing of the guard
 blue-bristled wiry fingertips cigarette-stained hands
   manipulate shift knobs with lime green digits racing by in plastic black veneers
  Alabaster smoke clouds plume from slivered windows
  into oblivion and fractious FM radio waves
  Gossiping urban seagulls circle the expressway
  searching the arrival’s possessions in street agony
  Below me is a universal viewing pod between my bare cold toes
  Perched over tacit circular swirls whipped into this frenzied steel stool podium
  stage, platform, scaffold, a watchtower…
  axle grease-gunned swivel into today’s star lead-role peering through the bars,
I’m the sightseer, tight-rope walker, speaker-of-the-house-of-cards, a towering librarian back into sections of nonfiction.