Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Short Poem

The Furies

It booted up and everyone you knew
would be there was, on bunks, on babel-towers
of bunks, five to a bunk, shelved, legs dangling
homeward like the mischievously munching
dead on that high girder over midtown.
There was no room for everyone there was room for.
Noise were it not intolerable silence
would have been unbearable noise, it was all sepia
thank god till you remembered it was sepia
you chose. No one to thank but you, no one
to blame but you or choose but you. You tried
to close in on one face to make it blurry
but it sharpened like a sniper. Next you tried
to zoom the hell away and you got the Earth.

-- Glyn Maxwell

published in the TLS
image source is here