143

There was music from outside
In the back office of Ahmad's
That played across the walls
And into the crashed forms
Of the sidetable and the lamp
The body had displaced and
Made a pose of their place
In the broken section of it,
Of the demolished corner of
The composed, pristine room.
The music was 50s arabesque
Jazz; choric, acid, softhowling.
It sunk into the stopped heart
Of Vincent Arthur Carra as
A fullformed code into the
Disengaged command of an
Uncoupled old machineworks.
Cables fallen slack in heaps.
Cord and chain and fuel
Neutered and flaccid, fallen
Totally from the mouth and
From the gaping exitwound
And from the dark, spreading
Stomachhole. A system only
Visible in its dysfunction.
His grey eyes moved as in the
Collapsing light of the music.