the two biggest aesthetic mysteries
for me, so far, have been:
a. a german blonde child
reading me a children's book
on the train with his single mother
and me easing out a silent tear,
and
b. watching the sun illuminate
suburbia's stilettos as once
the gothic churches used to
contort in the skies with
seemingly randomised envelops
of free-flowing geometry -
man's dissection of godly
curvatures with ******* rigidity
for the gods are ignorant of
geometry, stale eternity never
illuminated a straight line
or a triangle for them,
so these roofs like gothic ejections:
although less sharpened, and
more like barns in terms of curvature,
set the postcard photograph
taken with a blink of an eye:
while plum-coloured ready to
dislodge noah's fear clouds
roam the skies like a congregation
of vultures or hyenas -
trying to spot their prey, a patch
of dry grass;
everything else in this world,
seems rather unnecessary.