Time Flies in This Pending Space
Echoes from the new opera: the sound of the plays
and claps from the crowd still resonating behind the bay
windows, present in their absence.
The missing ladder leading to the roof-top, from which
twelve skyscrapers regulate the orange light onto the city,
now replaced by a sign reading ‘Betreten der Dachfläche
verboten’, black on white.
Sofa skeletons, broken bottles, cracks in the walls, dried
plants and moss in every corner.
Red-striped sunshades flapping in the wind, torn under
the weight of those puddles of water collected from the
rain, pressing on and dripping through the material.
An ecology of ants and nails, aphids and cigarette butts,
beer capsules and caterpillars gathering in dust heaps and
resting in flowerpots.
Spray paint mixing with the shadow of the baluster,
plastic ornaments of sparkling water melting in the sun,
Re-dried wet carboard, rotten rugs.
The silence of a giant vacuum on the roof of the building
opposite, revealing its incessant noise when finally turning off,
at 9 o’clock sharp.