Bank.

[V. Dorn]

Melancholic wondering,
Somnambulant
Startled, suddenly
A stumbling step.
I cannot fall here.
A slumberous rumble
Booms across the quiet
Unconscious of the city,
Heralding dawn.

There are men alseep on the banks
Receded, Suckling silt
Laps and hungrily licks my feet,
And famine claws at my ankles,
Viscous and molten spine
A black bile, gurgling past
Penetrating the viscera,
Cleaving the palaces, and towers,
The canopy of spires gilded
By a coming rapturous morn.

Wandering through the haunts
Of golden angel’s wharfs
And silver queen’s walks,
I cannot fall here,
There are men waking on the banks
Heralding dawn.

Oil-skinned and grinning, sentinels,
Twisted serpents are my guides
And coil the globes still lit,
In this unconscious of the city.
I follow the lights away,
Less I fall,
Before the world starts again.