Much Appreciated, Much Reviled

I couldn’t quite click,/ I had no possession/ of the right kind of radar /for an eerie noise coupled /with the blue light insisting./Jolted from random settings,/ I kick up dust, blind in headlights/the exodus of trucks in streams/I know how to swim in surf/sometimes standing, sometimes sitting,/I wade till I’m deep, roused in abandon;/I sense strength from other hands/There’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing,/hand on wallet/he feeds the fire in seasons blurred by medicine./What’s more, there’s a teeming city/it recedes at a distance,/its’ buildings dissolve,/to run down a sluice./What’s left are mirages/their carcass spread for themselves alone.