Joburg.

Looms forever painted,
just above a receding, framed
horizon that never quite disappears.
In fact, in dreams, I can almost
reach out and touch the space
it occupies but my fist clenches,
grasping madly at a vacuum.
The images I have, reside
only in my mind. They fit in with neither
history nor reality. And visiting
the city suffocates them, making me
distinctly uneasy. Dislocated as I
sometimes feel, the distance I inhabit,
sharing it grudgingly with the city,
consoles my soul.