Gusseted skyscrapers sink and rise
in honking cacophony, collapsing like telescopes
then telescoping like ladders -
a song, they call it,
note trampling note,
heaped and scrambling over each other
like mice in a bran bin.
Windows yawn wide then crunch shut
like eyes; letterboxes
hoot like train whistles;
fog horn tones sound from sewer pipes.
Here, they say the street is stretched
tight as a trampoline skin.
A car sounds its horn,
but its mouth is full of water.
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