Skyscraper

 

I am the world disincarnate

no sound no taste

no sound

no taste

and my spirit rises from the molten tar

skin and bones slightly ajar

slithers past the turds of the dogs

the masses used to revere me as a god

haze among haze I brush past elbows

the space between people narrows

and I pass through the passers-by

and I hover shoulder-high

and I gaze in people's gaze

and the smouldering heat anaesthetises

them their blank stare akin to a tundra desert

inert, so inert

lighter than the air full of mosquitoes

I shell heads by the thousands

like a shower of torpedoes

yet with the net weight of inverted mountains

and I quasar in the glare of the sun

quasi-mirror to its reflection

I skim along the shard of lights which

shake me, shake me

Skyscraper

I remember a Mongol king whose eyes

pierced the distance like the falcon's

and he squinted when I blurred the horizon's line

and even then he doubted,

that I am as old as the sun

ghost, I am a ghost,

and they're the host,

glutting on the Fausts,

and their faults

and the skyscrapers like lances

and I like a harpoon of light

pierce in deadly dances

men's eyes kept in dreary human night