The Silver Dimension Poem by Alexander Hawkins

Everything seemed to hurtle along, intermittently interrupted
by reticence or liaising briefly with eviscerating rays.
We only worry when we see the same long shadows twice in a row.

Somewhere, a beleaguered clerk periodically attends
to a rather chequered checklist of lifetime achievements.
Constant distractions - we've got to go the long way.

Emerging in the cold burr of the whirring white noise office buzz,
the smell of cheap java perfumes a great glut of paper forts
and hierarchical prisms. The litany of the chair is quite astaire.

What's this? A gestating mood of hapless hindrance, sprouting decay
from such uneducated roots, failing by furlongs, with withered oaks
leaking spiteful sap from their knotty algae coated alcoves, then beyond that,

vast, speculative skylines splattered with a plumage of fabulous flesh
toned appendages, outlined with wispy tangents of great sunburst,
where the last celebratory whimsies of legislators now lay.