Revisitations XIX
by Graham Myres

All manner of madness...

In the city, smoking bricks,
and a strange mass of people.

Poisonous, happy flowers...flowerbeds of the helpless.

Once I saw a homeless man sleep on a bed of Geraniums,
an image too constructed to really have happened...

Build the city around commerce and lights,
And Turkish baths.

My senses are children, born to move
amongst the alleyways of a constructed ascetic maze.

Night-time forever,
omni-deathless peasant,
the Barrons of incredible things.

...burn their cars.

Self-contained clown, loveless riddle.

A trap in the city centre,
dangled absurdly.

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