Look around,
There’s only the chair of office,
At the death of a city.
High backed chair,
Groans for more opulent hide,
At the death of a city.
Vaulting deep, high, wide these cathedrals.
At the death of a city
Such grandiose views,
A man’s reflection in civic erections.
At the death of a city.• More
The deal’s not the deal they think it is.
I do the deal, life begins.
At the death of a city,
Marked by spectators,
This breast sags towards the earth.
Joy to know the time accruing,
Seeds the journey.
They will know,
When gravity comes for their high towers.
Between cheek and eye I loosen,
But my eyes are sharp.
Where time has gathered,
Unfolded and spread, uncreased, increased.
I am burnished by the touch of existence.
That youth is fruitful
And then you die.
Oh the fruitless lie.