angels of the mind better view of the city view
out the square windows rectangular glass ovals
circular like portholes the fisheye lens
preeminence receding on all hands
the ship receding or prow a pinnacle stern less a pinpoint diamond in the industrial view
and that’s what I was coming to the golden apples in the palm of a bangled hand
the rare presbytery the tangled sheep on the meadows
alpacas llamas you know the ropes the fair city above the clouds
at the river’s edge vaunting the sea and so forth
in the middle of the great plain yet not of it
the swear grounds and high minarets of the golf courses magnanimous and miniature
the customs and rituals of the place surmounted by a bullying gang
so the dream restored to fiction fades alas away
they say in the samba centers what do they say
they say discovered in the quondam jungles are lost cities
they say men of other planets built them and will return
to judge the progress of their development
they say this jokingly as men from universities explore
the rich cunningly fabricated exploits of the jungle
that rainy wood you read about in the schools
——
Christopher Mulrooney is the author of Grimaldi (Fowlpox Press), toy balloons (Another New Calligraphy), and Rimbaud (Finishing Line Press). His work has recently appeared in Poetry Ireland Review, Communion, and Tipsy Lit.