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Eglinton at 5

It’s never through with you, never

done with the deaths original

to your own figurations

of happy trails or another

stroll through the garden

of shattered hearts, pieces

crunching under relentless

reflections on the nature

of metaphysics. Examined

traffic patterns yield

crusading misprisions in place

of flows when deflect

enters the picture. When the picture

enters deflect confusions

confound patterns claim

to assigned seat. The light

changes and no one moves

because distant incursions

of injected greed breeds

entropic fixations normal

stasis and no one really wants

to get there knowing pensioned

conclusions offer little hope

beyond brief visits to distant

unapproachable worlds

of bad teeth, crushed goats

writhing in dust, and another

beautiful day in the light

stolen from time at a cost

calculable only in utter

disregard for what passes

for decency, a concept ripped

from pages of unique

literary merit. Repeated adjectival

superlatives ring bells

in alien belfries rousing objections

anticipated well before approaches

to various ramps announce

impassable blockades of jammed

up steel and rubber founding economies

of pain and routine passages

through unthought habits against blank

skies of late February. Food

and roof wander into labyrinth’s

multitude of reasons and become

stone. Not stoned, which would reopen

negotiations with traffic patterns

toward possible, what? entropic

fibrillations or analogical

eruptions into parking lots across

GTA, little gestures of love oozing

into front seats with hot pizza

after game’s folderol? Sheer unlikeliness

of the sky caught up in rivers

of red lights, silent and still

over stabilized motion interruptions

stretching into fields of grief

for unrecognized iron fortune’s

rendition of almost there if it

weren’t for the damned traffic

announcements leave it likely, in fact

newsworthy for broadcasts

across temporal grid interstices

every night at six while economies

quiver thinking of arrangements

opening, beginning to move

into the night, shifting constellations

flowing toward another long day.

Michael Boughn’s "Eglinton at 5" is a highly abstract, layered, and metaphorical poem that explores a range of themes and emotions. Set within an urban context, Michael Boughn’s poem portrays life as a perpetual challenge, rife with struggles, apathy and stagnation, alluding to its on-going trials and the uniqueness of one’s personal struggles.

As it delves into profound philosophical ponderings about the fundamental nature of reality and existence, employing traffic patterns as a metaphor for the chaotic and unpredictable nature of life, suggests that attempts to understand or control life's twists and turns can lead to misinterpretations and confusion.

With irony and satire, Boughn castigates contemporary society, particularly its erosion of moral values. The poem uses complex and symbolic language as metaphors, while critiquing the use of adjectives and superlatives that often lack meaning or depth in modern discourse, rather, suggesting the need for a more thoughtful examination of the impact of our modern lifestyles.

Despite the overall tone of resignation, a glimpse of hope and change emerges toward the end, suggesting a yearning for transformation.

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