Tuesday, 3 May 2011

Nocturne Dance

From one night-time office window,
I zoom my gazing out, out, out,
Searching for other nocturnes,
Dancing the vacuum dance,
Tilting windmills at motion sensors,
That only seem to recognise phantoms,
On Wander Patrol through these elevated moon/june cathedrals,
Built from semi-recyclable materials,
Built to make office-time last and last,
And last..

You cannot get hay fever from a plastic plant,
But that won't stop them from trying,
These triffids of air-con micro-climate-change,
Never change.

The steel-sealed windows reflect, reflect,
Outside windows inside windows,
Like black hole fractal mirror Picasso's.

Guernica profiled,
We identify ourselves with pass cards hanging
from tribal lanyards;
Chakra-opening crystals for the All Seeing Eye.

Sometimes it makes me feel like bungee jumping the vertigo,
Eyes samba tripwire reflections.

Without-word-thoughts I wander,
Nightdream Believer.


A couple of cleaners,
Are steaming a floor nearer to the sky.

A restaurant bar owner and waitress lock up,
Throwing bottles bagged,
Into a green wheelie skip;
After hugging,
They talk for a few seconds more,
Before separating.
It's just after 2.35am,

Ultraviolet sheen,
Dead screen savers,
Grey diagonal blinds;
Are those red building lights helipads for flies?
Floors blink black,
Silhouettes windmill,
Electric eels shuffle, click, flutter, ripple.
Oxygen expires plastic plant photosynthesis.