Ishtar

-

Ishtar is on the subway. 
Her face is repeated 
Through layers of torn posters.
Her talking heads are chanting 
Sex and war through sacred boom-boxes.
She reigns in New York City,
From uptown lofts, to the 
Downtown candy store.


Ishtar’s smiling faces sometimes 
Float through the turquoise 
Haze. Her teeth are chattering ticket stubs.
They spell out a new code. 
You see it in layers of dead flyers, 
Pez wrappers and graffiti covered trains.
A manual from the underground
To slay the Philistines.


Ishtar gifts you the city in 
A paintbox. You draw black lines
That define the barriers between 
Uptown commerce and downtown 
Creativity. And then, so effortlessly,
You reveal the anatomy of the city,
With a brush-stroke and a cloud
Of weed smoke.


Ishtar shows you colours 
Through New York city rain. 
Taxis queue in yellow exodus,
Carrying you from gallery to gallery.
In your paint splattered Armani. 
You shift from the downbeat of mutant 
Discos to loft apartment parties.
On the boom for real.


Ishtar is on the A train.
She reigns in New York City.
She’s an art dealer,
She’s a bag lady, 
She’s a stripper on Times Square.
Her repeating heads are
Layered on tiled walls.
She is chanting sex and war.


Ishtar is drawing you a map,
An escape route from the underground.
You can see her eyes everywhere
Through the layers of torn posters.
She is tracing the veins of the city,
From uptown lofts, to the 
Downtown candy store.
On a mainline to your skull.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Ring Road

-
I watch from under The shade of the fly-over. The ring road squeezes the city Into prolapse. The sky closes for business And the clouds fold over, Like a restless sleeper's duvet. A sun-flare splits the grey fade Of the post-rush hour queue. I don’t think that the commuters Can see the heard approaching. A hot breeze whispers Through skeletal trees. I can see the horses racing Up the dual carriageway. The Ikea sign is melting, and Flaming hooves are pounding Over the blackened bones Of roadkill and exhaust pipes. The harras rages Through the heat haze shimmer. Their manes are ablaze. With unstable diamond eyes And the stars in their teeth, They unleash Beautiful incineration On to the idle traffic. Flashes of orange and red caress Idle wing mirrors. I see the fire-heard Race through the barrier and Leap across the fly-over. Mirrored windows kiss The glare of a new Temporary sun. There will
Read more

The Sea Wall

-
I take a late-night walk through the park, where Trees are hanging in a frail parliament. They lean in for a late-night session Their photocopied leaves are trembling At the thought of autumn alopecia. I try to imagine the speed of tree-thoughts. How long do they take to penetrate? And are they articulated only By green or gradients of red and brown? I can’t tell, in the amnesia of moonlight. A shopping bag is snagged by brittle hands And held up, beseechingly to the stars That glaze the hardened September sky.
Read more

September Trees

-
I take a late-night walk through the park, where Trees are hanging in a frail parliament.  They lean in for a late-night session Their photocopied leaves are trembling  At the thought of autumn alopecia. I try to imagine the speed of tree-thoughts. How long do they take to penetrate? And are they articulated only  By green or gradients of red and brown?  I can’t tell, in the amnesia of moonlight. A shopping bag is snagged by brittle hands  And held up, beseechingly to the stars That glaze the hardened September sky.
Read more