Pigeons on a tiled roof.
Foreground—bus stop shines in the rain.
Swans—patches of cloud—
float long Regent’s Canal, its
skin, moving fish scales.
Shirt of sky opens.
Hair of stars sprout.
Plastic bags crackle like
pellets of rain in a tin can, like fire
bled on wood.
A southbound train lunges over a
joke-bridge.
The night is radioactive.
The two swans screech their song of love,
shake their manes, become
proud as horses.
From: http://www.eclectica.org/v12n4/bose.html
Date: 2008
By: Siddhartha Bose (19??- )
From Troubles of The World 