Violent City

By | 2 February 2001

Given the trajectory of night
perhaps an image confused with a mouthful.

She took out and showed me, looked like foliage.
on the couch, dried out in folds waiting to be found
and put to coloured rest.

Someone sleeping is a creature. Wake up! first words are falling.
The less spoken the warmer.

Because switchback corners are sex and blind slippery.
Trees lean over to point in the wrong direction.
The way forwared is tied down.

Planning children, lengths of cloth wound up
and absolute limits to positive thought.

Faces are being projected across a building. do follow me
the guy in the box, he probably has a family.
Hands behind his back, he has no control of the pictures.

What looks best is a tree moving
the shimmer flick of leaves and light helps you adjust.

I’m going to tell him because I feel bad about leaving.
so he doesn’t make the same mistake blindly.
That is the least I owe the vision.

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