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Siege Liturgy photo

On the tip of my tongue, the shadow of your incomplete rebellion 
a riverine blister ; a city-street broken into brick-brats, 

glued together again to fashion a ceramic gnome, its 
rickety tree-branches sticking out  like cowlicks – uncombed, unshaped. 

The remembrances of an unrequited people's republic. 
The glint of silver in an abandoned candy-wrapper, 

the momentary flickering of a possible blueprint. An oft-repeated 
refrain: sometimes bought affection is better than no-affection. 

The newspaper fragments blow past a sparrow,
the sparrow does not  look up. This catacomb of alleyways 

I have dared not enter. A spell, an oft-repeated refrain, but never 
repeated out loud. A novel kind of detour

that was bound to result in a sculptural loss of ways. 
On the tip of my fingers, the shadow of your lost ways

 is a groaning cadaver. 


image: Kenny Orr