Monday, 9 May 2016


And so I write to report,
that in the ambivalent crafting of landscape
that is city,
this symphony of multitude and madness,
in the discoloring of green and blue
among the soft stone in hard arrangement,
in the grand aggregate
and glossy individuality that contains nothing,
this too may pass in the relentless dissolve of time;
but perhaps a random girl
a creature of polite address and conversation,
petal and hue in a grand bouquet
of thorn, weed and synthetic assembly,
like a faint, familiar fragrance,
trapped in the amber of memory,
may remain.

[From the collection 'The Underside of Silence']

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