I’m The Chrysler, streamlined, needling into the future between wars. Fearless, I’m decked out in chevrons, poison green Bakelite cuffing my arm. I’m a daymare from playing Radio City. Jazz smoking the subway. Come kingdom or riverbend, I’m platinum brag, cool as cypress. Flashbulbs halo behind me. One heel on the running board, no Dust Bowl in my pencilled gaze, each time I step into the city, I’m Sing Sing to your river. The cobalt pistol dozing in a gloved hand. MGM stars dancing through Cubist rooms have nothing on me. My heart ties a bracelet of black water around you. Tonight, a chain of bonfires.