READING THE CITY
The city does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand.
Italo Calvino
Previous section: Behind the
Lines
Blackout
(after Nietzsche & Bishop Berkeley)
yellow dragon thunder splits
the tropical night
as in a childhood story from the fantastic East
summer
storming through its thick dark heat
though no exotic figures here in
this concrete box
a small silent room with shiny furniture CNN
pictures of Ho plastic flowers and the gecko
who shares the
bathroom lively and transparent
an engaging conversationalist with
a passion
for truth a social realist with a glass eye
we
often discuss the balance of trade how to
measure wealth marry socialism
and capitalism
daylight topics practical solid civilised
but in tonight's drowning world the structure sways
undermined in
waves of nausea fear doubt
foundations sink in the pouring
darkness of the storm
the city blacks out in flooding rain the
building tilts
its contours edge away the darkened centre verges
on collapse old theories float like thin planks
to the surface a
broken raft splintered and torn
if we close our eyes do we exist?
beyond this deluge
does a light burn unseen in a far off desert ?
this bubble of black silence obliterates all answers
when you look
into the abyss does the abyss look
into you ? without a mind
heaven has no choir
the earth no furniture shared ground is washed
away
leaving creatures in remote worlds alien to self each
other
indifferent machines dull beasts spear carriers in the
circus
what we have - a temporary visa a brain in its fragile shell
the mysteries of violence brutal Gods love art
the power of
thought to hold it all together
behind tonight's rain curtain in a
nearby room for hours
a small bell rings a tremulous prayer a caged
animal yaps
and whimpers trying to hide too afraid to face the
storm
while up here my dashing friend is on the move once
more
crawling up invisible walls patrolling the darkest edges
quick
politic a cool survivor always open to debate
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