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Miggy Angel



When a bloated tower-block for the rich

is erected in a rundown neighbourhood

the locals stand at the perimeter

looking up at the solar reflections

in a thousand clear panes

like enchanted pagan witnesses

of Aurora Borealis


They say words the block's inhabitants

cannot hear. They wonder who lives up there

in the penthouse apartments

at a million notes a pop


The block's shadow is long & diabolical

It falls like an axe on the locale below


In Neolithic England

they built megalithic columns

hewn from stone, stood encircled by ley-lines


Now I, druidic neighbourhood idiot,

stand rooted to the spot at the block's clubfoot

watching the witch on the thirteenth floor

Black silhouette resplendent at window

The skyscraper necromancer

lights a candle for the sill

Singing her auguries

of the coming Arcadia 



Miggy Angel © 2011

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