Slums

A priest of Nature, I walk down slopes beguiled by balconies seducing the limestone of the earth.Seeing young idlers and old mistresses, they bless the winds with a kiss of steel and plagiarise the vows of the waves.

Oh to be surrounded by beauty in a proud Hell!

Everything passes me by: grinning ghosts, decaying facades, ill strays, everything! And I turn their existence into a potion of laughter.

Whispering tales of ancient and vivid romance into the ears of the lichen.Black corners disecting Eternity, keeping little rays of light imprisoned into the etched edges.

I can never forget what my eyes see, instantly I can touch it and mould them into a new direction.What I hear I instantly re-make into a dream and speak of the visions therein with a purple smile.

Views of decadent centuries blistering over the horizon with reverential horror; they're gone oh wonder they're gone!

May the children know: I've seen it I've seen it:

A space with an astronomy of silence, old names revived in the forgotten rubble walls, fantastic games played in the buried fields, and workers drinking and singing in an unseen cafe.

I hear words long dead, exclaiming riots and praising home-grown wines.Beneath me a woman bemoands the gangrenous city gate: I see her with Nature's eye, she is a weaver from the hill shouting "The raiders are coming, the raiders are coming!"

I sit on the cold walls awaiting the show, with the keys of felicity around my neck.