It came to my attention a little while ago that it's national poetry month. Well, what better excuse to post some of my unique poetry.
The Hand
Out of place, defunct, still in the centre:
By spring-time, cobbled stones and stately street,
The baths will stand. I note their shape, just glancing—
A gesture worth more effort than regard—
While moving by with constant, unchecked pace.
Around the structures nameless people shift
About their way; a thousand well-dressed statues,
Exclusively today: they live in sight,
But die outside periphery. And still,
To stare is wrong; a micro-transaction
With no foreseeable return. So long
As time and grace holds minds so far apart—
While the clutching commerce enthrals the throng—
Economy demands investment in our art.
