I would
wade through
every postmodern
sunset
to find you
on the overpass.

The quick silence
of chemical wind
on your lips,
wisps of atmosphere
snaking through your hair,
facing a blaze
unrivaled,

even in your gawky
bones,
they rattle as we run
through the falling sky.
A somber
reflection cast in
metallic puddles

splishing
through them in rubber galoshes
which echo radio waves
to our feet.
Absorbed
in static sunrise
the gray dawns
on misted lawns

we are forever jumping fences
running the elliptical patterns
of logic as
it seems,
our broken hearts
pumping broken blood.

Our lungs cloaked
in television waves,
rippling off the
shiny cars
glinting in some realist's dreams.

I breathe static into
you, a life aura
of soft sounds
as your limping body
stands smug
against a biohazard blur
dying out in the western sky.