Cornelius Fortune - One Poem

Slate

When the rain starts,
the world goes
from instant replay
to 1920s fast frame,
populated with people
trying to avoid the devilish downpour,

I can hear a rag time melody
drowned in the congested
nonsense of nonentities…
human colonies devoured
by the latest apps,
consuming raw GPS
coordinates to guide them
through the next set
of alerts and push notifications

atonality, a caressing, careening soundtrack
soaked in symphonic afterthoughts,
culled from bass boost long division
and umbrella eighth note patterns,
drummed above cars,
bus stops and ATM kiosks,
glowing like lost parcels in
transit

visibility slips surreptitiously
through the exit leaving a gloriously
wet crystal ball; liquid scribbles
dance across the foggy
headlights of cars, and in so doing,
slate makes me anonymous:
I could be a murderer,
or a gardener praising the rain

I could be a hologram
coughed up from the
gutters, collected in the
imagination of the debased,
a coaxial designate made
flesh

when the world goes
monochrome and I blink my eyes,
I understand what it means to be
a shade of noir slipping through
the cracks, framed within a
repurposed silhouette, pulsating
to the gray-washed visuals
blotted out by the amputated sun



A native Detroiter, Cornelius Fortune's work has appeared in Metro Times, the Advocate, Chess Life, Yahoo News, Carcinogenic Poetry, Tales of the Unanticipated, Illumen and others. Visit his website at www.corneliusfortune.com.