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Wednesday, August 22, 2007

A Subtle Axis

there is a turning;
turning within a turning,
stomachs reach from the inside out
hungrily touching faces
with hot needles of want
that tattoo the skin,

a subtle axis
on which all the fairy tales
of the street turn;

warped fairy tales,
where love is food,
wishes scavenging
in trash barrels
and heroines
who look up at them
with decaying scorn,

yet there are other tales, too,
memories shared, games played,
time spent talking,
counting out bits of time,
with a clock disconnected
from the modern world,
making minutes seem eternities,

warping senses
so the world leans into
a life of a dimmer kind,

stripping it down to the bone,
bleaching perspectives,
everyone is one colour
down there;

only fraternal instincts
bind in,
understanding the hunger
of the others,

the same subtle axis,
whether black or white,

that turns and
rocks to sleep
its children
with the fairy tales
of the street,

even those
whom no longer believe.

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