Curating The Clean
Age
Plato would have got
it.
How whole lives can
be lived
inside four walls
while shadows
dance uncontrollably
outside.
Out here dark and
peopleless
streets are full of
noise. Drains
gush and the tyres of
boy racers
squeal unchallenged
by the good .
We are between
something.
Our rich past holds
us down.
A half ship,torn in
two, the stern
safe and full of air.
The bow,broken.
Thrust forward empty,it
frightens .
Dreams scattered like
luggage
along deep canyons to
lie
unsalvaged in the
aftershock.
We must either
refloat this hulk
and anchor it or
leave it.
Let the tides wash
indiscretions
and curate the clean
age .
Tony Noon
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