Wednesday, January 23, 2008

In search of Zion

"(From the darkest corners of the web): Zion is the greenest, dirtiest, smallest, rasta-reggae bar this side of what once was the Iron Curtain. No place in Prague is smaller, more comfortable, more ratty, more personal, more rundown..."

Through book-dust and ivory
I went in search of Zion

Through eight by eight fields of marble
Where wizened warriors locked horns

Through silently mugged glances at fellow drinkers
Mazy tenticles groping their way
Across a cigarette haze dank with Leska

And up, up through Zizoskvy
Basking in the concrete-glow of cloud-dicing towers

Eyes poring, brain fumbling
Ligaments rubbered and taught
We pounded those streets.

Wading through urban jinns,
Hovering in pools of neon-shot blackness
Watching as we sought our own realities
Out of the old and the new
Jostling each other in the frost

Through silence and song
Through solitude and company
(But he was grizzled, and drunk, and lost)
Under stern balconies and winking balustrades

We only found a Zion-shaped hole
Shivering in the Vinohrady night

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