Megalopolis
In the January tenement night
a draft through a cracked window
raises frost
Lie there
body warm
under covers
face cold
looking out
hand hesitant
Finally
reach up
with a penny from the nightstand
press it against the glass
It sticks there
copper stamp
authenticating the boundary line
Hand and face withdraw
for now
It's easy
in Gromagon
to forget
In the city
in the city
in the city
in the city
you wear a well worn path
clock to ear, hand to clock
stretch and stagger
piss and coffee
dull to remembrance
of vivid faces and forms
that wheeled
across the night sky above you
while you slept
and still wait
curtained in a dim dawn
for the crystal night
to look down on you again
In the city of Talas
you lose touch
with all powers but his
Tell me
when the graves open
and we, rushing headlong
milky-eyed
through the grinding cogs
toward our bed in the earth
rise up
hollow-faced
waiting to be fulfilled
is it in the shining city
that we'll stand?
Listen to me now
Eden was a pretty picture
but Gromagon is the real deal
Crazed angels
wander everywhere
were so many minds broken
in so many strange ways
when we wandered groves
and turned the earth with seed?
Of course there were
Dream, dream
with sight dull but hungry
too much, too jazzed, too wired
Snatch minstrels, archons and poets
off alphabetized shelves
man, oh man
plug 'em in, boys and girls
Gromagon stands on the shoulders
of countless seekers
gone and going to dust
Dee dee dee
dum dee dee
I've forgotten the name
of that song
But it rings in my head
'cause my body can't forget
it will one day
and they'll put me away
and the song will pass
and another one come
the city is fertile
such an excess of shit
I'll remember soon
or maybe not
Relax, relax
don't let the city's beat
drown every perspective
Art is the province
of intelligence
don't mistake it
for passion
In the deepest place of the mind
are the woven lines
of blueprints
I love you
I want to build you
own you
dash myself against iron and concrete
plunge from the sooty heights
Better than to
sit quiet in a comfortable room
knowing no giants will appear
striding forth
to grapple
What mind
fashioned the concept
of towers?
In the January tenement night
a draft through a cracked window
raises frost
Lie there
body warm
under covers
face cold
looking out
hand hesitant
Finally
reach up
with a penny from the nightstand
press it against the glass
It sticks there
copper stamp
authenticating the boundary line
Hand and face withdraw
for now
It's easy
in Gromagon
to forget
In the city
in the city
in the city
in the city
you wear a well worn path
clock to ear, hand to clock
stretch and stagger
piss and coffee
dull to remembrance
of vivid faces and forms
that wheeled
across the night sky above you
while you slept
and still wait
curtained in a dim dawn
for the crystal night
to look down on you again
In the city of Talas
you lose touch
with all powers but his
Tell me
when the graves open
and we, rushing headlong
milky-eyed
through the grinding cogs
toward our bed in the earth
rise up
hollow-faced
waiting to be fulfilled
is it in the shining city
that we'll stand?
Listen to me now
Eden was a pretty picture
but Gromagon is the real deal
Crazed angels
wander everywhere
were so many minds broken
in so many strange ways
when we wandered groves
and turned the earth with seed?
Of course there were
Dream, dream
with sight dull but hungry
too much, too jazzed, too wired
Snatch minstrels, archons and poets
off alphabetized shelves
man, oh man
plug 'em in, boys and girls
Gromagon stands on the shoulders
of countless seekers
gone and going to dust
Dee dee dee
dum dee dee
I've forgotten the name
of that song
But it rings in my head
'cause my body can't forget
it will one day
and they'll put me away
and the song will pass
and another one come
the city is fertile
such an excess of shit
I'll remember soon
or maybe not
Relax, relax
don't let the city's beat
drown every perspective
Art is the province
of intelligence
don't mistake it
for passion
In the deepest place of the mind
are the woven lines
of blueprints
I love you
I want to build you
own you
dash myself against iron and concrete
plunge from the sooty heights
Better than to
sit quiet in a comfortable room
knowing no giants will appear
striding forth
to grapple
What mind
fashioned the concept
of towers?
Slitted eyes
blur the edges
the crushing speed of it all
I am not brave enough
to touch a stranger in the street
but I have the courage
to walk
where powers
hover and flicker
brood without malice
wait to be triggered
by the innocence of time
I should be so afraid
law, law
holds it at bay
If I say it often enough
I may believe it
Gromagon is built on lies and faith
amazing arrogance
and terror's sweat
Our air
floats through
with poison
burning the faces
from statues
faster than the etching
of time
We put it there
that's power, you know
but don't think
it could ever
burn us
The city of Talas
drowses rarely
in the languor of satiation
Onyx gargoyles
a thousand
mirrored windows
dogshit in the gutters
the scent of sex
on the fingers
of smiling women
invisible thoughts
moving in wild profusion
a cascade
or orchestrated silence
Gromagon's cathedrals are legion
its quiet churches
few, and shadowed
There is a sweetness
to the moment of sleep
and the moment of waking
that Gromagon will never know
(C) 2003 Malcolm Deeley
blur the edges
the crushing speed of it all
I am not brave enough
to touch a stranger in the street
but I have the courage
to walk
where powers
hover and flicker
brood without malice
wait to be triggered
by the innocence of time
I should be so afraid
law, law
holds it at bay
If I say it often enough
I may believe it
Gromagon is built on lies and faith
amazing arrogance
and terror's sweat
Our air
floats through
with poison
burning the faces
from statues
faster than the etching
of time
We put it there
that's power, you know
but don't think
it could ever
burn us
The city of Talas
drowses rarely
in the languor of satiation
Onyx gargoyles
a thousand
mirrored windows
dogshit in the gutters
the scent of sex
on the fingers
of smiling women
invisible thoughts
moving in wild profusion
a cascade
or orchestrated silence
Gromagon's cathedrals are legion
its quiet churches
few, and shadowed
There is a sweetness
to the moment of sleep
and the moment of waking
that Gromagon will never know
(C) 2003 Malcolm Deeley
painting copyright Marge Simon