Tuesday 20th December


Our shadows ripple over iron fences, over weeds that dance
by the side of the road. The iron rusts, looks beautiful in sunlight
where the names of local faces like a fanfare sprayed in silver
drip down walls. And all the trees are naked, raise their arms in
exaltation as the light showers down on us, lifts us, dancing off
the backs of rusting iron buildings – makes the shadows black as
newsprint, like a raven headed boy with powder face, concealing
vibrant colours of a coca cola can beneath his jeans. Eyes like pins
discharging disparaging expressions as the colours wrap
around him, at the crowds of smiling strangers standing close,
too close, to him as we rock & shake beneath the dirt of the City of Dreams.