Sunday, 24 June 2018


                                                    The value light confers is not a currency.
                                                    There’s no exchange rate for these effects
                                                    on the underside of leaves or clouds.
                                                    There is nothing quantifiable.
                                                    It’s as if a soundtrack’s being put together
                                                    without recourse to rhythm or chords.

                                                    Passers-by are a family with child slung up
                                                    on fatherly shoulders, a perky-tailed dog
                                                    that’s sneaking in and out of refuse deposits.
                                                    Crossing the long vista of a street,
                                                    I’ll have to wait where only a few nights ago
                                                    I was stopped by the police.

                                                    That was a routine incident.
                                                    The shop’s open. It stays open all night.

Image: Marina Shiderova; text: Tom Phillips

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