Little Cathedrals of Capital

Between two black suits, the screen
as failure's beauty springs, unfolding
ornaments embedded in the bricks of banks.

My thought a mantle weaves between the
elements, the corners of the streets, finding
momentary lodgings in between each brick

wondering back in-midst the suits, reclines,
goes back a step or two, and
Leaps:
Everything has be-come
something entirely other
through the curtains' shade
the camera's strange angl
reconnects the stars without horizon.

Tell us more:
When this window shatters, the
color of the glass will wipe away
the lion's face in stone:
there are chairs that unfold
space and windows without bars
that sketch the outlines of prisons

My thought, hidden:
in blue, a shadow, wrapped in
space, rested against the light:
green and unusual, sometimes alive
the camera shifted, doubling the room.
There was a silence like a song.

Forbidding metaphors
we nonetheless take distance:
a flag, a rag the wind plays
with -- on the sails a stain
of living, hiding, lookin --
us.

[Somehow very sad and very nice.]