Columns
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Gridlock
Massed strangers inch toward clustered towers,
jammed, damned and stalled.
In the rush hour crowds
impinge upon all.
Workers edge, twist
their way through.
The crush defiles
the temple where drivers sell their souls
for parking spaces.
In the city
compartmentalised,
walls press ever closer.
Apartment dwellers,
endlessly squeezed
into tighter isolation.
Relief sought in bars:
a liquid trigger pulled against
those dearest.
Gory, twisted entertainment.
as dollar men seek to mine
the horror within us.
Demolish, rebuild.
Only the temporary is permanent.
Even
the encapsulated dead await relocation.
Overhead
the great cranes soar
laying concrete turf
where no roots grow.
by
Carl Sloan
22nd April 2002
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Topics
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