Late nineteenth century houses
The corners of these terraces
Some have spires
I imagine chained up princesses
Or moody nubiles with long flowing hair
crying for release;
But all that’s there Inside
are last years decorations
And books never read or seen.
These houses deviate from the roman design
They veer towards the ‘Mozart’ estate,
Waving;
Downwards this concrete river to gangs on corners
And at the bottom there
Flooding the dominance of the post office tower
In the far distance,
The sun!
A deep scarlet heartbeat
Rising slowly, invisible wings
Stream into the clouds
Salmon pink and arteries
Right there in the metropolis valley
of the parallel lines.
Neat urban housing
A picture perfect
I reach for the camera
And think of all the likes it will receive
On social media
On Instagram
On deviant art or some other canvas
broken window to the world.
I frame the vision perfect
Rule of thirds
Rule of thumb
Natures golden ratio
My finger rests above the shutter
For a moment, stuttering
Wondering
I look at the scene before
And do what rebels do
I fail to comply.
The image handed back to nature;
The scene unfolds its perfect chaos
The imaginary polaroid
Develops in mind
And that instant
Captured for a moment
Rests within eternity
But not within a second
nor anyone’s possession.
‘Roleflex sketch’~Wenborn
The Western Gate 
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