Here's one I worked on and am still at. No guarantees.
The Far Horizon, or a Photogenic Defenestration
When was the building raised?
Who taught us the lie and promise of a profit?
I only remember the gracious living of a yesterday on the sea,
The 38th parallel at a sweeping fifty-foot height above O…
Ours was the salmon pink, squat home, with a small
herb garden to the side, a patio out back looking to the mountains,
and on the porch, a lemon tree and table.
The Sea stretching to the southwest-
No sun or stars; only the waves, the wind and the forgotten beginnings
and pits from rotten fruit.
The smell, heavy and grating
as only industrial sound in recent memory
is dropped like a piano from above.
The rocket is my only inheritance,
my only table on which to create any broad stroke and lasting impression-
this fear is Olympic-sized and as deep as a well-
an extended stay, a frequent flyer,
posi-traction for the paralytic soul.
So now, as you’ve already disposed of the label and wrapper and receipt,
we wait for the darkened show to begin.
It's sort of an perturbed feeling;
low-down and resonant, like the rumble of low-flying B-52s.
...Only much deeper.
An emotion raised in water and brought down from high snow-
it's still good, walks long and far and remains deeply aligned toward the future,
but perhaps not-
because food for thought isn't always food for the soul,
and vice versa.