Concrete and metal are alive also.
In the black road you can feel their pulse
pumping through the dashed and solid lanes,
trembling, teeming with transit. Mineral flesh
and muscle vibrates in its strain; the beams
are vital with the bulk of bones and veins.
Its hands are heavy with the urgent thresh
of travelers; their hopes and motions live
a little while in its sinuous spires;
traverse it, nothing ever taken or given.
Concrete and metal breathe without desires,
beat without the pangs of a craving heart.
All is edge and mindless eye, and knows
only drive, not where or why it goes.