Saturday, 28 April 2018

There was and there was not

 so, before I embark
and prior to my descent
in the wide-berth access lift
I stand between worlds   should I flick
on the lights and stand to let
the rats take cover
among parasols and ear trumpets,
amid infantrymen frozen in desert,
the photographs and paintings
in this holding room for unclaimed goods 

or should I stumble into darkness:
the junkyard of bicycles destined
for prison yards, pallets
of wellingtons reclaimed from festivals
paired and stationed here behind
the corrugated iron door of the storeroom
one side in darkness, the other strip lit

come up to a slice of daylight
furrows falling across platforms?

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