Imaginary Cities | PC Bangs

City of incompatible systems, apocalyptic notations and superannuated evangelists. City of identical bookstores and foreigners prowling carpark stoops for keys, wallets, hearts. City of rude one-word email responses and grumpy old men found while randomly searching catalogues for grumpy old men. Shafts full of planetary sump oil tempt the one-legged. I hope at least one grumpy old man falls in. City of embassies surrounded by swarms of well-wishers, or could they be sharks? Lapel pins point to obvious associations, while calling cards call from card tables set up beside the road. City of club sandwiches and cafe mocha with whipped cream, impossibly thin straws and sickly sweet liqueur flavouring. City of protest placards lined up as if this were a science convention and these the entrants in the poster competition. Images of mutilation and gangrene. City of fabled demonstrations and stampedes at stadiums built for fleeting competitions and transparent profits. City of crooners with imp

Sister city of the radiant golden hair. Pleasant chit-chat at a water fountain, long pregnant silences between sips from cans. The massive bandages of sympathy and sound. Concourses where the grass has been cordoned off. Traces of shampoo in the air, mottled with perfume-laden leaves. Sharp shoes and tiny foot stockings. Chapbooks devoured like supper, moonlight over the steamy library of passionate renewals and overdue loveletters. Hair that takes off, like a flock of raven stalks. Clothes that fly off, like a sheet being thrown over a line. A line of poetry expressed from the mouth, like a ray of sunlight through the thrown-open window of my ear. A sound shoots from the pavement, like a lock of hair attached to a turning head. Heart-beats, sun showers and lilies. These apostrophe petals from the dim eclipse of yesterday. Feelings that hide behind sunglasses in the rain. Rain like a shroud of sorrow over the moon. Sisters catching the bus home from school. Shadows catching the sisters

City of warm breaths and gentle men. City of pencilled notes begging forgiveness, expressing praise and cementing friendship. City of shared liquor. I met a man who told me his name and with that simple act declared his genuine sincerity. We walked by the river and talked aimlessly, covering neutral ground just as easily as the more rocky paths. Later we met for dinner and discovered common threads, some secrets and one tale of infinite sadness. City of affection. Students who bow to their teachers and teachers who put their students at ease. Laughter in the gambling halls; quiet words of sympathy in the everlasting streets. City of cotton, whose twigs can draw blood but whose flowers are harvested to manufacture handkerchiefs, soft towels and bed sheets. City of polite propositions and thoughtful refusals. Judgements remain infrequent. Fruit sellers wander through the day, loudspeakers transmitting recordings of their most secret desires. City of crumpled faces and wet exclamations. C

City of miniature cities, laid out on lawns like picnic lunches, skyscrapers made from sweetstuffs, syringes for telecommunications towers, lights blinking away the loneliness of miniature people gazing up at the stars. City of landing strips and vertical automobile repositories filled with carcasses of crashes long extinct, shards of steel bone and empty rearview mirrors. City of horror and hope, ocean and shore. White with chalk, the streets dream of empire. Strange mists roll in from the sea, making navigation difficult. The new transport craft are rumoured to be arriving soon, their saltwater power supply offering emancipation from the manacles of gasoline. Refineries shoot fumes into the darkness, their miniature workers like specks of dust around cooling tank rims, fuel vats. City of museums dedicated to the excesses of human foolishness. City of demilitarized zones and school zones. Shopping ceases during the annual demonstration season. It is no longer safe to walk without riot