Merciless City

MERCILESS CITY Grimy city blocks worn and cold are lost In rusted steel and roots of permafrost. Faintly emerging from the gloom hazily misted, The crane’s spire is a ship’s mast listed In an ice-fog off Baffin’s distant northwest coast - A crooked sky-hook reduced to ghost. Barely seen, swirling in an icy grimace, A patch of whiter fog hides the sun’s bright face. The distant cars disappear and are lost without pity, Trying to escape the cold shoulder of the city. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Written today on a January morning in St. Petersburg,Russia.