Dacia Express

By | 30 June 2008

The city as we passed through it was heavy with the vibration of tears.
A trembling wasteland of ashes dancing
Curved blade of the river
through the middle.

Melancholy rising from the bullet holes
where the streets coiled in on themselves
like animals preparing for the winter.


The harshness of salt and the liquid
smell of the ocean carried on the charcoal wind.
Through the half open train window
watching the city was like watching
a photograph burning into view:
a mythic hero playing a tragic figure
trying to grapple with history like a man
trying to hold the river in a sieve.

This entry was posted in 31: SECRET CITIES and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.