Rain drags slomo waves across
the roof of glass. We peer
like tourists of the Barrier Reef
in a boat (upside down of course)
through the ocean sky
to the blur of Centrepoint
and contrapuntal minaret and tower
of the grey coral kingdom
of Sydney’s commercial buildings.
Eda Michelle hurts a little
from the tourists lost because its wet.
Pearsons know
the flowers won’t sell as well and
Alter ego, Monza, Duty Free,
Bristol and Brooks, inmates in their
competing deco cells,
nevertheless together curse the rain
a bit I bet today in QVB*
The most ginormous artificial Christmas pine
of plastic spines and lights,
a phallus uber alles, points
via a crowning star
to the dome of glass.
Protected from
the rain and pain,
not even synthetic
Christ’s at home
as far as I can see.
How far can I see?
Skylights as colourless as
doubt that stretch above and
bless the multistoreyed halls
on both sides, under rain
to-night will transmit
radio outlines from space
of lonely but nevertheless
real stars.
*Queen Victoria Building, Sydney
1987
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