Think of the day when Atlantis fell, out
of favour with the gods and Plato's curse on
it's head. Someone must have been on
their way to work, bodies in a public bus
where sweats and odours mingle. A lover
waited by the crossroad, one searching
familiar face in a sea of irrelevant, faceless
ones that walked past, soaked in the
lights, sometimes touched each other
convulsively to make sure the other one
was real. Others were making their way
home on tired bloodless feet, and yet
others, must have been making love.
Someone was learning to cook.
Someone was masturbating.
And someone, like me, was
contemplating suicide. The sunless
rundown streets stretched far beyond
forever to lead wandering strangers
nowhere. Atlantis, just before she drowned,
was ecstatic. The sun shined
the same on the day the ocean swallowed
a city whole.
Atlantis waits, somewhere where
words don't hold their sway, where only
peace reigns and everything is forgiven
in oblivion and dreamless sleep.