city a dried sponge,
bloody
tears and brown wire,
crinkle-cut horizon,
crenellated
concrete memories,
brass bells, iron
fields, grey gates,
glossy blossoms over
a wall,
trays of people,
hands defenceless as petals,
the glinting well of
home.
so interesting!
ReplyDeleteanother one that seemed to come fairly quickly
Deleteamazing imagery, Robbie
ReplyDeletethanks Efi — just hope it coheres!
Deleteit coheres in a fragmented way, which is apt, I think...the last four lines seem to pull it together. The incredible line, 'trays of people' suddenly focuses the poem and brings it home through the displacement of ugliness in the descriptions of vulnerable beauty, and identity. The contrast between the first line and the last line is good too - the latter suggesting the self identification, the affect that is unseen by the others in a place that appears dead to them, but is nonetheless a home and source of identity to many. Sorry for belabouring the point - in short, yes, it's coherent....:)
ReplyDelete