the edit

The lights come up
only so far, mind
rain on the pavement which is called
sidewalk in another fiction

“Look at those fingers!”

they’re incandescent lamp bright
the skin all comic book topography
and little stories at
the edges
of
the nails

cut

The lightshade swings in a correct arc
out of the light is torture (hear it?)
in it
there are hats, and cashmere covered cones:
breasts beneath
brake lights red stab and rain steer
between stories

On a screen
a bulldozer in black and white
piles bodies