Abstraction from a Building Site

And here, in the immaterial, I stand, no fixed boundaries, no keen edges. It is loading, under construction, cranes baseless rise... Floating amidst the half painted sky, marred by the day time moon, that has no place. Bearing the taste of dreams, the heady scent of hallucinations, the texture of a fantasy. A choral fantasia, dappled by demisemiquavers, flying off the neck; as the notes blend into a flowing fresco. Phantasms rise and fall in oblivious order, sinking sun engulfs the horizon; tearing the canvas and melting the paint. Imperilled as the easel levels, deft brushstrokes salve my wounded portrait... Collapse in the four corners, falling mourners, shoving ignorant sojourners. Blinds seek to conceal, but are actually rather shit. Shadows move without prompt, without light to cast; a disembodied malevolence. Pernicious, nefarious, perhaps merely careless. Shaven, shorn of pretence, awkward stance; I, with candid glance, eating poussin happenstance... We never stood a chance. Now compose the end of time, the bottled light trapped six stories high. Fading, forever fading, the colours running, interminable grey reigning; banished by poco allegretto thighs... A complexion refined, the moment deified. Concentration associated, yet not possessed, a quality not defined; here we will camp, fetch me a scribe. Write down these words: words without meaning, lines devoid of rhyme; a piece outside the concrete. The concrete that is anything but, lying incorporeal, belying my perception-such a strange inception-manifest as a wave. We shall see, surfing the concrete seas, building tides, stranded on suburban beaches... Waiting for completion.