BLACK HOLE

  by Cappy Love Hanson

Seen at night from my train window, 
it’s nothing but the crooked air of one 
more city, contorted by the gravitational 
mass of buildings, needs, machinery, 

and greed, distorting light to its own 
murky purpose.  Souls swirl miasmally
around it, sucked in, spiraled down, 
ground up.  The flesh of streets 

turns sullen under heat and pressure, 
and a billion eyes of shattered glass 
watch and glitter, predatory, underneath 
the moon and other street lights.