we crossed the Willamette on Steel,
as the sun tore through the black truss,
and the waters below, they beckoned us
to jump, like fools on some adventure,
perhaps to the plight of carpe diem,
or, as likely, to some muddy grave,
I know not the difference of the two,
though the rusty river, swallowing
whatever time would traffic in its wake,
yearned and ached to bring its spoils
about its banks and to give back, though
with no thanks, something pretty (ugly)
to the industrial City of Roses.

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