Avenues
abandoned, and
side-streets retained.
A sidewalk
of flesh and
rooftop flashing.
Overcast, or
perhaps cast down
the down-pour.
Poverty reigns.
The twisted grip of
shale unfixed.
Quartz-flash, agile
shadows flit.
Cliffs of flint
form finger grips.
Shadows lower
into mist,
the Spirals slip,
ignite.
Imagination
in the grip
of twisting wisdom,
writhing life.
Their forms ignite
a lifting mist.
Beckoned lower,
shadows shift.
Pennies plumet
off the cliffs,
redeeming passage
as they slip.
Spiraled shale and
flint unfixed,
quartz-cracked,
agile fingertips.
Imagination
in the grip,
the twisting grip
of life.
Feste's Lute 