When the rectangles fail

In this light vivid sharpens into grey and
Blue, one imposed on the other as if
Pasted

Massing upwards and zig-zagging on bitumen
Over stone, the sky, these stark stacked frontages seem to
Jiggle and thrum

I'm conscious of the tapping of
My hands

"This is the city", I think, "and
I feel like dying"

I feel like dying and yet I must have
Reached the Right Place for at my feet a
A man kicks out like a stricken fish

He is keening and still the thrum

"Perhaps the far off is not too far
Now", I say to him. "When the rectangles fail, or fade,
You will find disorder like everyone
Else"