The spark off the bootMakes submarine lightWave on the track wallsA bar on the roof locksThe accordion busTo its middleMessengers draftIn the ambulance wakeFrom the eighth floorThe cars are the sizeOf a four-year-old's toysFrom the twentiethA seven-year-oldMight vroom themWhen my heart hurtsI notice what's upWith my feetEverybody walkingLooking straight aheadIn a silence they don't hearNeither do ILook downAnd you end upOn the groundThe critics want the leaderNot to succumb to doubtsJust to address themO slack ropeThe metaphysics of morals isFor the birdsAnd do they navigateBy brain magnets?Sunset light on the canalsAnd a precise ache in the wingsUntil something they've seen beforeRelaxes themPeople imitate when they singAnd when they don'tThe main thing is to keep talkingAnd also to listenFor the songThat lasts sixty yearsOr seventyIdeas of shapelinessCan't be helpedA shoe on the floorOf Grand Central Terminal____Jordan Davis is Poetry Editor of The Nation. His most recent publication is POD | Poems on Demand (Greying Ghost). He divides his time between New York City and southeastern Ohio.