beaten by this flat concrete
laid out like so many tombstones
one against the other in the grey stretches
and I wonder whose grave I'm walking on
Oh city how hungry you have been
I hear your belly roar early in the morning
and as I slide to uneasy sleep it growls outside my window
an anxious need an eager grasp
and how you stretch and grow sending your smoke
like fingers that curl into claws
spidering their way through the scraggly foilage
wrapping each dusty strand carefully against each surface
until with one twitching pull
it tears the forest down and thrusts it thrashing into its grasping maw
and with a quick swallow stretches out for more.
O city I am lost in your grasp
and cannot break free.
1 comment:
I was born for the city
my name was written
in the grout
when they laid these concrete slabs,
centuries ago.
my thoughts
have been sent down the river canals
to echo there forever
banging like gongs in the summer sun,
or lingering like mist in the cool night.
these bricks have been set
in shapes and words,
gradually sinking into the bank,
settling into their decided meaning
the black and gold metal gates
of the homes of the people
curve perfectly to the shape of my heart..
a cage, or a perfect refuge
-------
although I imagine we are thinking of different cities.
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