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.



into darkness

and reveals

its own banality.




                                       Malcolm Evison (1978)

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