Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The Primal Scream

The slated Roof-Tops tiled
         With orange fading black mosses
                And panes shattered like cold
                      Rain droplets falling with the regularity
                            Of the nimble urbane Tom-cats
                                   Pausing like drunk gents, gap-to -gap
                                          They know their way home too well

Somewhere a piercing scream from far below

             A Child? A Women?, A form of silence
                   Is broken, stolen by a force not its own
                        The Toms move through to some elsewhere
                             The Gulls static like concrete sentinels watch
                                And are likewise watched, by what I observe
                                      Through the enclosed frame, somehow with them.