The Twisting Voices

Each pocket holds a ticket
Each ticket bears a number
One child likes to lick it
The other stares in wonder

Old metal moves unbroken
Blue twisted rails cut out the sun
And between the rusted gates standing open
Confetti silhouettes chase air and run

Wrappers trace the beaten pathways
Crushed by little rubber souls
Feasts for flies in dim flickered rays
And pain for love in dark bouncing strolls

Dirty lights drape the complex surface
Flickering as the fat flies flutter
Leaving the moon a cold gray purpose
And giving small hearts a warm flushed stutter

Cities of steel curve through every scream
And the children climb every structure
The metal connects and breaks its seams
As small feat jump the gaps that rupture

Electric songs pulse through the rails
Sung by the voices hiding in the night
Their faces spoken soft and pale
Their words heard loud and fiery bright

Synthetic flags herald each winner
Smoke rising from their crowns
As smells of burning plastic simmer
Over smoothly cracked concrete grounds

The great metal contortion forever grows
Feeding off hotly contested tickets
Trampled by rubber feet that never slow
And picked up only by those who risk it

Each pocket holds a ticket
Each ticket bears a number
One child likes to lick it
The other stares in wonder