Classic Poem

leaving nature’s
barbarism (spider
in a glove) behind
me I enter my
paved city –
pocked concrete
& traffic carbon –
sky’s all
coppery night’s
coming up

I follow
the man-in-the-dress
along a lane
littered
with litter
where
Carlo & Zanzi
have signed
the sub-station
roll-a-door –
more than a tag –
a declaration –
white strokes
wide brush

no lights on,
no one home –
downstairs
short striped rows
neatly arranged,
more organised
than the library
I work in –
I stand before
my bookshelf –
wonder if
I’m a little crazy.

anyone on
the answer machine ?

up to the third floor
for a lean
& a musing –
what colour’s my posture ?
what colours my posture ?

here’s the view
from the balcony –
grey & darker grey
brick wall office
windows computer
screens & tv screens
nearly always on

an office cleaner’s
smoky silhouette
gently inverting
wastepaper bins
under large
cibachrome photos
of American
stars

look skywards
imagining –
every passenger
has taken
the holding pattern
to heart

I should
show some vim! –
drive the car
somewhere,
walk into Chinatown,
loop the city
on the mono-rail,
decipher
an ignoble idea,
cook dinner –

toss
the colander of penne,
careful
not to steam
the B. Smith
& B. Holliday records
stacked
on the dish drainer –
all washed up
‘n’ ready
to spin.