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Arcadia

 

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