Ghosts & from Parchment, scalpel, rock: cities
by George Ttoouli
[ poetry - july 09 ]
Ghosts
All the buildings in the Heartlands
have ghosts - like the shops in Little India
and the stalls in China Town -
all full of ghosts. Sometimes you'll see
a pickup full of Sri Lankan ghosts
on their way to a construction site
or hiding out from storms in covered alleys
where the air conditioning units are often howling.
I read something by one of the living
which said: but you can’t take the kampongs out
of the people. She was cute; her dad
worked for the government. I thought she was
defiant, but later I learned
what she meant. At night I swim
with ghosts in the pool by the flats
their wakes skimming an extra line
behind their empty shapes.
from Parchment, scalpel, rock: cities
I dream I am in Atlantis, New Orleans. The last citizen
of Gomorrah. A fiddle in my fists against the tides.
Poseidon floods the vaults with watery steeds
and Vulcan lights the cellars with his lava.
You swing your diamond axe against the city
pillars, unsettle the skyscraper outline.
*
A moebius of dreams move into parliament;
the sun blues through the government’s child-fist.
No quick Oedipus I, no staged descending king,
no uprising I, no Spartan thrusting Ares at the hordes.
A reckless-shaped rock, deserted bluff, sky anchored;
you focus in: ants knuckled beneath the overhang.
*
I dream of unbuilt bricks on tarpaulin,
clearly the city below me, jigsaws -
Aglaophone singing a jericho song, the city
workers disgorging to the streets, hydra’s teeth.
And sediment blockades your local rivers:
grit and manifestos mixed with otter shit.
*
Into the bar walks a minotaur,
orders whiskey sours and waits for his paramour.
“I slipped one night while we made love and pressed
down on her throat. She held me there until she choked.”
You order on the rocks and think about a lighthouse;
around you igneous drinkers lumped on stools.
*
Sometimes a dragon claws up from your guts,
and stutters an icy fire through your throat.
Crystallic celestine, a toothy rubble, crunchy;
at times a snow fall; at others, fingertip blue.
I place it by my bed to take away the dreams
of the staring man in the public urinals; little boy.
