Egypt & Industry: a novel novella

Ten days beyond a city sunrise.

The Matthew Spreads Its Wings

In screeching seagull song sounds out senescent afternoon.

“The cosmos, then, was chaos…”

A finely crafted lot of letters nailed into its door, the room, so full in retrospect, slept – spacious; silent.

The walls of mud-made brick that bind and shape the space they share start to compress – contracting in upon themselves; sharp shuddering.

Two paths curve t’ward an empty cradle.

Now riddle it with chaos: muddied fury lit by mob-borne flame.

“Change is the only thing. It’s the only thing there is.”

The seagulls, too: they screech in semi-reliably recorded history.

Such keen eyes, such keen resolve.

I watch her and she’s wistless as she weaves and waves again.

The air’s electrically-lit between each of the eight trees – their roots breaking the grey and moss-green, late-night, cobbled surface.

Such sudden change; a moment of momentum.

Poetry, prose…

If I walk over the water and across the road, I’ll be merged with the final paragraphs.