Cliff dweller society

the bridge that creaks

under the weight of uncertainty

the scaffold of self doubt

for the cliff dweller society

unknown to us all

peel away the plaster skin

the skin that sweats rain

which pours now and then

with a native gaze

words disappear

from the corner of my eye

resting in the canyon womb

the red comfort of knowing

sounds dishevelled

rosebud tea

the candle eclipse

of a cigarette by the wall

glacial incense

sculpted gingerly

the corners silenced

by ashes and antiquity

pockets of tinned light

for the underground niche

that tippety-taps the soul

my cinema of thoughts

scuttled and sinking

after a storm

pictures glazed over

as an hourglass remedy

dark and always turning

a cathedral full of violins

the smell of caustic soda

dripping on ropey tension

serpentine roads of a slow trail

headlights snake

the city of film sets beyond

stages an unwelcome scene

filmic shards of half-lit alleys

cut into the landscape

pressed, cut and grooved

as a symptom to be worn

carved from the winter

and left to thaw

Dale Fincham

2 Replies to “Cliff dweller society”

  1. If your ear were close enough, perhaps you might even hear the new harmonies whispered from words. For these words come form the dark, from a night which has pushed against day for months. And so I become an ally, and with my lamp glaring close-by and my dark warm coffee, these words will become our shelter, and the black lines will once again protect me from the rain.
    December 28th, 2006, København, Danmark.

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