William Corner Clarke
Crossed Lines
In the ether
beyond the black hole
of the telephone receiver
I hear voices
talking of revenge
Disembodied spirits in a city
built from shadows
and electricity
The words drift in
and out of focus
as the wires whistle
with the solar winds
I listen, arched like a cat
on a windowsill
Ready to disappear
the moment they hear
my breathing
on the line
But they notice neither
the moon nor me
Eavesdropping
on their secrecy
And eventually
I put down the phone
and leap without a sound
into the undergrowth below
Bristling with static
as I go.
Page(s) 179
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