The Undercity

ghost city Yang Yongliang

“And I stopped suddenly, in confusion, my head buzzing with all the thoughts that seethed in it.I could make nothing out of it all; it seemed to me one big tangle. In desperation I cried out: I can’t understand it. I don’t know, I don’t know…” W Somerset Maugham 

The Undercity ~

Buildings and people all passing through
in overlapping images
swimming in and out of focus like a 1960’s TV screen
jostling and rustling like sightless animals
in this, the undercity, the timecrushed place
clinging in sepia tones and irregular layers to the ragged edges of existence
reliving the moment
their moment
unaware that it has long passed
dissolved like mist, melted away like candy floss in the rain
leaving a faint sweetness
and then nothing
until the clockturning brings them back
to live
however shallowly
however briefly
however palely
for one more moment

 

*artwork by yang yongliang*

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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