Chrysler (poem)

Rounded ledges
Invite
Beckon
To your iron-clad, shell-shingled
Beacon
Take hold
And heed the revolving doors
On guard
Eight grey-stoned gargoyles
Frozen yet arial
Rudder flaps
Radiator caps
On this futuristic missile
But still grounded in their gaze
Looking out and down
At the enterers
Some so lucky
Reaching the triangulated windows
Solar-flared decorations
For viewing
The Empire State
Made of a million monoliths
Surrounded
By tempered glass
Mirroring each other
Cities reflecting cities