Wednesday, June 23, 2010

If you listen, you can hear it.
The city, it sings.
If you stand quietly, at the foot of the a garden, in the middle of a street, on the roof of a house.
It's clearest at night, when the sound cuts more sharply across the surface of things, when the song reaches out to a place inside you.
It's a wordless song, for the most, but it's a song all the same, and nobody hearing it could doubt what it sings. And the song sings the loudest when you pick out each note

- If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, Jon McGregor


The sky disunited
crying despicably
Trying hard to revive the dead
My vision clogs up as I try to look
The raindrops shatter my ears.

I cannot hear anything
in the secret whisper of the spirits
Decay surrounds me
fiendishly jeering
With you soaring up
and with me plumeting
deep underground