Chasing words
wrapped in everyday chain,
tons of debris on a series of nimble platforms.
for one shining moment,
no one in the meeting hall whipping their tongues.
on a dusty cross road,
near multicolor kiosks, a few perched trees stand tall.
a dreamy eyed passerby,
hold a single stick of fireworks, a burnt candle.
the first citizen of the city,
coconut palms, full of annoyance, grow on each other.
a few drums of burning oil,
send a stringent smell on a gloomy winter afternoon.
petty and pedestrian, spoof and satire,
between conversations a few words float over the railings and burn.
This has the errant quality of the raconteur about it.At once incisively observant and yet somehow intangible.The words do indeed chase themselves.
Thanks Louis for your in-depth analysis. Much appreciated.