Night city skyline
in the elevated blue blur
of concrete pots
Stored, engorged
with succulence,
in empty space, like atoms
Like people
and ceramic goats
poised still
on impossible mountains
Like strips of southern blots
blotching the chromatic ether
polychrome black
Last night of the old city
new things rising
slowly like stars
Small things dying
on a windowsill
plants in beer bottles, hope
Lights out in towers 2 and 3
Someone burning the midnight
tungsten filament
looking up at redeyes
Leave me alone
in precarious refuge
in suicidal silhouette
sweet succulent
The promise was
you take care of me
and I take care of you
Power cuts and no stars
No moon in the night sky
No woman in the frame of light
No windows in the box of shadows
Curtain billows with hot August
in sulfur clouds
A dark streak down
Mario Jamal lives in Beirut, where he writes short works of fiction, poetry, and an experimental blog called Hana’s Lemons.
- Mario Jamalhttps://rustedradishes.com/author/mario-jamal/
- Mario Jamalhttps://rustedradishes.com/author/mario-jamal/
