Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Composition in Primary Colors


Empty Factories

They are like cloisters
battered and broken,
time feels bigger here
space grander 
than walls imply

When time stops,
instants are eons,
and a drop 
of river's flow
is oceans overflowing

They are like cloisters,
I walk by stained and broken glass
ponder how things decay,
my tripod aligns and spreads the rowed columns,
my lens fixes each time-sculptured brick in its crystal grip

When motion ceases
silence rumbles,
by and by
the quickness
of black night

They are like cloisters
When it rains the ceilings run, 
and ducts and pipes channel fountains, 
and cascades from broken skylights fall 
to pools, and tin roofs thunder.