NIGHT SHIFTS

NIGHT SHIFTS

 

 

Aimlessly walking through

the quiet town, an echo

painlessly affirms belonging.

 

Night falls;

the day disintegrates –

all reference fails.

 

I cannot wrap this world

in meaning. Slowly it burns

out the old images, the worn

 

words, the soiled. This is

the turning point; the nights

calm trodden underfoot.

 

Hold out your hands;

capture a fragment

of the neon-splintered

 

sky. A window brightly

shouts its wares.

Stares

 

into darkness

and reveals

its own banality.

 

                                             

                      

                                       Malcolm Evison (1978)

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