Evening Vibes
Either we stop to see,
the world shalt spin
us by
like the sweat-stained
spinning gasing
held in the palm of a boy,
eyes laced with want
but staring at the crane
with his gaping mouth.
Neither he saw
nor
heard the rumbling
of diesel giants, bent
on inexorable pounding
at the heartbeat of
his wooden soul.
The soft pillowy attap
laid on by the
rusty greatness
of his descendants.
A single leaf
flutters,
spiralling down the
gutter between two blocks.
The wired man and his vasectomy.
The grey surgery
the winding, slow
drip of wet cement,
encasing me in a cast
of silence.
Raindrops my only
native guide back to the
Eden which i was
forged.
My eyes swivel drearily,
their pupils dilate in the
gilded sunlight, with its
gunmetal cloud-sisters.
They fear not from sadness
but from rancid erosion
of the wonders of
nameless deities fathered
by Ozymandias.
