Excerpted From "Urban Landscapes" Poem by Richard Weissman

Ancient echoes bleeding 'tween mine fingers, perverting the urban landscapes which pale at their idols - Rush of the maggots towards that thunderless roar turns her sensibilities (from pink of wrung stomach)to profaned by racial comics as they'd relay it 'til somehow redemption ensues,
Somehow wild moment - electric in its anxiety, yields,
Moment by moment as this moment passes,
Losing its potency, Now washed clean entirely-
Tarred roof tops sharp cut the angles 'gainst stale-dulled cloud drop,
Onward to onward, back to front,
While three women dangle marionetted in paned movement, back to the front,
Harrowing interplay between them,
Evolving, decay-
Through all life's bland seasons,
Twisted, distorting under the starless skies which
melt into landscape surreal - In brown formless overtones,
As objects shift,
Almost jumping out of vision and
Into eyeholes,
Back now,
Gaining depth,
Now through untamed prisms,
The crystalline distortions of
Hand-Eye
Mask to sounds of the Inner City in torment,
Cries of violins - The Buddha, painting itself, outward
and inward towards
the infinite possibilities of
Abstraction which from its true nature, reflects,
Within its eyes - multi-layered, billion-dimensional, phantasmal
mountains of structured steel-glass whose triangular destructions,
Whose third eye bleeds redemption malice-
While two eyed sockets ruddied, tear-formed as
the face drops from sadness in horror,
Out of itself, into the blackness,
Shiftless - Now forward,
Now into death,
Now fast-forward unto death,
Now into twisting realities beyond meek perceptions,
Cut glass lay shattered as forgotten dreams, viler memories,
Cut-paste,
Through the templates,
Outward clutching forever,
Backwards from eternity,
Inward towards infinity,
And near ways back to the downtown illuminant, towards faceless illumination
from proud eye of God-

Excerpted from "Silent Echo" (1994)