Tigers spiralling
to concrete indents,
roaring in foresight
Of broken pavements.
Twisting papers are
scattered above me.
Unknown words
are whistled shrilly.
Kettle prayers boiling
in wind-whipped foam,
frothing from meteors
mouthing for home.
To the News:
ants drift like drops
from clouds.
To metropolis, where they
vanish from view.
A woman shatters
the glass ceiling, but
I am halfway up heavy stairs.
Brittle on the quaking
skyline.
The world is leaning
to watch office chairs
Be thrown through windows.
Becoming doors.
The FBI will crawl
crushed faces, until
(at last)
Buy postcards from a coloured stall
and feel a trembling of power passed
from father to son, some hatred lost,
to an unhearing and empty sky.
Then you may go on a kneejerk crusade
To show off some Christian heart.
Come on Jesus,
I can smell the oil.
We'll blow their kids apart.
The weather is inclement
and marred by debris.
Our inferno dispenses
a briefcase shower.
This one's for you George.
I am still here.
With my long h