Christopher Barnes
Cross-Streets Between Canals
Decay emerges
from every morning's blur.
In the chirm of a kisk
of whistles:
stalls,
chips collapsing
in the fat of refined sow,
mackerel-in-a-roll
stiffening.
Shadowy subterranean
vaults.
Suddenly the city
is at full tilt,
a snag of tramcars
snickering.
Corset of water-bands,
this borough is fantailed.
Arranging myself
in angel-shouldered recline
below a mist-murk,
spires, spherical ribs.
I admit
the intangible halo
of St. Nicolaaskerk.
Tremulous strips
across the landing.
poetrymagazines' note: from the Amsterdam poems
Page(s) 15
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- Lamport Court
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- North, The
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