On the plains of the city…
the dust is poisoned by coin and evil and the stink
of waste and fume; the rising tide is of flesh, frenzied
and fleeing over the blacktop and concrete slab,
as if looming headstones were not slab enough.
The horizon retreats in canyons: buildings are bluffs,
the streets, creeks and dried-up river beds. A hallucination
of prairie, dead fields and abandoned wheat-towns,
drives the cowpoke madness on bull-whip wings.
© BH, 2023
the dust is poisoned by coin and evil and the stink
of waste and fume; the rising tide is of flesh, frenzied
and fleeing over the blacktop and concrete slab,
as if looming headstones were not slab enough.
The horizon retreats in canyons: buildings are bluffs,
the streets, creeks and dried-up river beds. A hallucination
of prairie, dead fields and abandoned wheat-towns,
drives the cowpoke madness on bull-whip wings.
© BH, 2023
Another poem rendered in parts. For the illustration and also for the idea that each segment has a kind of stand-alone-ness.
Above all, it's a suite / poem about the madness and panic we've engendered in the world today. For all the good it does us.
No comments:
Post a Comment