Thursday, 21 June 2012

Wiping the Slate

(The basic draft for this was written as I travelled on a coach through the Australian outback. This may be relevant. Then again it might not.)

The light spikes out, a
fruit cocktail of neon
arching through city
streets, past rows of
buildings, wiping
through the concrete of
tired and fickle urban fashion.

It twists around fingers and
waists, curves down
suburban crescents,
knifes through the
snaking pasta of by-passes,
then points in all directions, a
compass giving no clues of
escape or renewed options.

One flash and it
fades with us,
leaving no trace of it or us.
The noise of trees
burning in its wake is
just nature, old,
arthritic, cracking her
bones but carrying on.

It has no concept of
committee, discussion,
debate or worth, cannot be
validated or invalidated, and
views these explosions as
periodically necessary.
It does not know, or care,
about you.

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