A stone is thrown. A window
Shivers briefly in its frame, shatters
Into fragments, falls in a rain
Of glittering crystal.
The last of the glass is gone
Iron bars close over the doors.
I walk forgotten city streets, paved
With broken stones. This world is folding
In on itself. Street lights fade
To a dull glow. The pavement cracks
Beneath my feet. Railings rise
Outside my cage –
The walls are closing in.
No one wants to look outside. Darkness
Closes over the city. People laugh at light
And glass, shrink under
The Moon. She turns
To face the other way.
A single flower
Raises its head, forces up
Through a crack in the pavement.
I tread it into the ground. Iron
Is in my soul. The birds
Are dead. The animals are all in cages.
Everything is under control.
Message from LA: there is a Raymond Chandler type ring to your poem, LA at it's bleakest. Your poem is weighty with atmosphere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have seen this cycle in St. Louis and Detroit. Once proud well built buildings cast into neglect beyond restoration. Tomorrow the flowers and maples will be ripped out to build a strip mall.