‘in banality the transcendent arises’
Thinking about the murder of Julius
As his name-month swelters
And the Unitarian Doric of New Road
Houses a new busker
The formal portico is like a promise
Of something even better
Rational organisation of things
Simplicity of a sun-shaped god
The flute-player misses a note
Sparrows chip the paving
– No blood on these stones –
The next high improvisation he attempts
Disappears into the blue and out of history.
Columns indent like inert components
Of some unwieldy gear
Which has run down now and lies
Disassembled in the workshop –
Cog-wheels and grease, the smell of solder.
as a break from the appalling tedium of attempting to promote my precious piece of writing – FFS! – I include this lovely addition to the series ‘DM uppers”.
It’s also a way of checking whether I now have my advert as my fixed 1st page.
Do you think I should change the background colour on this contraption?