Poets

The city stopped at the point of my pen. And power multiplied like steps on a smooth dancefloor. And the evening's necklace, like eyes strung on the track of the dark, began to rustle. Meshed summers behind the doors of houses and inhabitants from quiet shadows sensed this prismatic joy in the bready warmth of the sun and deaf peace of the rain.

Vulcan's black lizard of Jabuka Island, volcanic Avalon, shapeshifts into a malignant reptile's mobile body, a long-legged bird, membrane of a butterfly and snail. Carved in a dark hour from crooked craters overgrown with greyed grass. As the worm bores into the apple.

Nothing in this room is mine. When I close my eyes the walls move apart, slant into thin surfaces; so quickly do they change.