We’ve placed a cross on your shoulder,
erected a transmission tower,
planted a spindly flag.
We’ve tunneled through you,
necklaced you with roads, paths,
apartments, mansions clutching
like pearls at your throat.
You, who pressed forth
forced by unrelenting magma,
earthen breast, back
Now the city gathers round,
obeisant to your deep bass voice—
but freeways, office buildings, industrial parks
We live beside you in tiny flats
watch phantasmal screens,
groom ourselves for the daily backandforth
squirm into leather
for nights in halogen town.
Still—certain hours—you block the sun:
chilled by your encroaching gloom,
we peer from windows, terraces, to see you
throw off our ropes and stays, to loom.
-- from Shimmer Report (Ekstasis Editions, 2015)