Thursday, 31 May 2007

The sound of the noise

The sound of the noise

cannot be picked up;

but the noise is there,


Its roundness is too polished,

slippered, not grasped,

hitched up around your view,

but there.

Shifting into a higher gear

it rises, drilling you

downward into concrete


Gathered paving below

oppresses, heightened by

the smoke-laden glow:


Amidst this grinding cruelty

you suffer and grope,

flee your corner,

always told what to do.

If there was a tower

that broke away from hard grey,

you would ride it

to the top.

2007 Richard Townrow

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