A Red Cart

A red cart
and the wind crisp in my ears.
The fears, 
the fears pour there 
as the heart white-surges
through gold and blue.

Thrill of movement 
hurtling the curve,
knuckles gripped as silver bars
lurch and surge 
overdownround the bend
straight in the tunnel's mouth.

Fear starts the heart, stops
the breath.
Brain moves with fret and test of
ledges, the step towards the crescent
fall.

Thoughts incandescent, dancing ...
formal form and curve is
nurtured by heights cool and numb, 
greying in the evening light.

All pedestals in place, 
architrave tapped and
settled by hand.  Down
below, each vast cavern is
strutted with beams in rows
lording-it over the lumber
huddling shapelessly
in murky corners 
where spiders are busy
and silence blooms through the dust.
Here the dry air stirs and spins.

Up above in the amusement park
the girl, far and wide-eyed, laughs,
graceful through the noise and lights,
the cheap plastic seats and orange
people winking there.  A fluorescent world
of curves gained, lost, ascended and
left behind; of the formal forms
of lust.

Slats pass in a blur of wood and clatter.
Fingers force the bar, rise and press the air,
heralding the last 
downward rush
of the red cart, 
the pump of blood at the heart.

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