Thin Lines Spread Out Into A Grid

“Be careful with that! All right, check the gauges on the regulator and watch out for overdoses. Oh, and look out for potholes and puddles. And watch out for power lines!”

I don’t think power lines care if there’s a storm coming.

If anything, when the sky goes purple and the last
patch of sunlight disappears I suspect power lines
think of it as a chance to show off what they can do.
Lightning flashes every-which-way illuminating
everything, flashing on everyone, like rock and roll.
But power lines are like jazz, controlled, the same magic
but stretched out into thin lines, spread out into a grid,
only illuminating those who are connected.

Sometimes lightning strikes a pole holding up power lines.

One time a woman described all the tribulations
her boyfriend was putting her through, her grief, his wild ways.

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself,” I said, “a real Charles Manson.”

Her head tilted. Her voice took on a low pitched rumble.
She said, sparking, “What the fuck do you know about it?”

I don’t think power lines care if there’s a storm coming.

Power lines are like a song made out of lightning but
jazz players know rock and roll always will make more noise.