Time's squares

Squares are the mandarins
The steps follow adjacent angles
Dotted lines, spasms of straightness
No place left between stripes for a slipshod walk
Concrete embeds my vision
To the very limits of a vertical horizon
Deep down, I can feel the supplementary ninety degrees
But I have no green card
My lips keep smiling
Intervals are opening up from all quarters

It hacks at my mesencephalon all day long
And large and high and wide
I’m walking through theorems
Nothing to unearth
Signs are drawn out from persuasive surfaces
The smallest sidewalk plays its own runway

Two choices, I must swoop down bravely
Or sprawl in a circle
In which lack of accuracy
No one will ever identify me
Watertight sequences, I’m up
I adapted a javelin into my spine
My elbows cut perfect dihedral angles
Through the crowd

I learned quickly how to relax,
Humming a little song
While appreciating the lack of breeze on my back,
Each time I spiral up in the middle of the avenues.
How downy are the cars.