Refuge of fled Olympians and earth-forsaking men. Where next, then, great Apollo? Where next, oh billionaires? I’d rather take the subway home— this earth was never theirs.
Tag: home
Homecoming.
Each time a jolt— that wheel of stars that sprawling port this skyline slung with cranes this power-hungry system the faceless window-panes this smoke-drift haze this choking air this scraped and scrappy sky the electric promise of the city and the indifference of break-lights.
Listening Meditation.
Birds overhead and the rain sweeping violently over the roof in sprays snatched by the winds and torn away then lashed on the rooftops again. Birds fly over giggling and calling as they pass. The cat doesn’t like it. Meows a startled birdish chirrup and jogs over to me. In the left ear gas burning in muted and droning roar. To the right the rain dashed on the window glass spittered closer than the swirling roar inside the walls beneath the ceiling. Birds call overhead again these screeching and squarked calls bickering as they go. Now footsteps in another house’s hallway (though there’s nobody home) thumping they vibrate through the floorboards and rumble in the floors. No voices only the birds calling and bickering and giggling as they go.
Echo.
As though the voices
were bounced back
hitting off
the hardwood floors
reverberating
through the common footings
up through the floorboards
and shooting in the zone
above the rooftops
in a radar’s sweeping arc.
Ghosts.
Their favourite game
is to run run run
up and down up and down
the hallway of the house
next-door.
Trains of Thought.
as another train passes outside
its rumbling vibrates the floor
pouring its energy
into my feet
into my spine
whispers
the city breathes
as another train passes outside
pouring the sorrowful
onto the streets
rumbles
pouring its energy
into my feet
into my spine
and in the city’s breathless silence
the craw of a crow
the ugly morning shriek of cockatoos
soaring
from the tall gums that line the tracks
mast and sails (the shops are ships)
as another train passes outside
whispers
into my feet
into my spine
as another train passes outside
echoes long down the cutting
carries ghosts of memory
flitting past
past
past
as another train passes outside
and thoughts are scattered
like wildflower seeds
and another train passes
diffused
like the broken ripple of water
after a ship has passed through
glinting in the sunlight
as another train passes outside
and light rain-drops titter at the windows
chuckling at the tipsy-pink rose glass
and the rain falls more steadily now
drenching
grows louder
not patter but pour
and a train passes
muffled
whispers
the city weeps
sweeps the dirt from its gutters
runs rivers
ripples down the rose-glass window panes
and a train passes
rumbles
and groans
the city grumbles
and shrieks the ugly shriek of morning cockatoos
and another train passes
whispers
the city breathes
once lulled
now lush
the rain sweeps across the rooftops
runs rivers
down the drain-pipes
tips tips tips
drips
down the chimney-pots
where there’s no wood-smoke
on a wednesday
After Midnight on a Wednesday.
Next door, the whine of dial-up internet
I wonder why
are they spies?
Taken from a passage in a notebook, ca. 2012.
I will be happy in this rundown jumble house.
Magical: Day One 