İstanbul School: Sidney Wade

Time is Money [from the collection Celestial Bodies]

Gray nickels up
in the east--

the forecast
is dire, but

it is a stately sight.
Dogs are whirping

at the moon in China
and a string quartet

has rattled out
an ardent arabesque

that brings consumers
to their knees.

Here is a common heresy:
Things are Bleak.

See here--this bag
of olives on my lap

is radiating happily
its currency.

Let’s slurp it up
in unison

and celebrate
inflation for a change.

And racket.
Let’s celebrate as well

that quarter
where wind smells

like wet steel
and the children

laugh unshod and holler
through their hands.

Where black
moons flower

in the desert.
Where power

of attorney
counts for nothing.

Where time is racing
through the sluicegates,

every second
riotous in diamonds.

This world is burning
up in beauty.