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Get a copy of this writing in the Mark Fleury 2017 poetry book the Eight Wheeled Doorway of Serpent’s Head on line:

The Child Street

Mark Fleury

The child street
Will grow up
To be a highway

When the sky
Proves to be the green
Of the sea when the surface
Is approached.

Up there each wing’s opposite
Has its own constellation

Of stardust, floating
During celestial choruses
Of night waves becoming

Day water. The full-grown
Highway too has a third eye, a meadow
For the shadows of stars
To unfold their blankets on.

Endless darkness is inside
This day-window,
And it provides a clear view

Of an ego crucified
On the skeleton of a Serpent,
Hanging there like a popped
Balloon on a nail, rusted
By starlight, flesh-colored.

Don’t approach the end of the beam,
It’s sharp enough to kill you.

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