i.
For harmony, dust
I've been testing my weight
dust was my body's accomplice.
Dust was lettered
and I was its litter
the sweet world was ending
and I was its song.
iii.
I snuck into the city.
I admired its buildings and drills.
I lived on the sixth floor
daily descended
and nightly returning
collected the matter at hand.
The heat would enter my left arm
and leave through my right
but my sweat was constant and even.
iv.
I snuck into the city
chokes close to the road
supply and demand
demanding.
I've been standing alone
and October is closing
contact with water
contact with air.
Give me your best arm for steering
let me take it
and change it
the exchange rate
over emotional.
The heat leaves through my clothing.
The cranes hint and I'm hinting.
With my hands in my pockets.
With my hands in the air.
vii.
It's hard to distinguish
joy from aggression
with the moon so low
on the horizon.
Like a tough cousin
roughing up the carpet
I tidy the damage
with my eyes on the floor.
It's hard to extinguish
the light in the street
where to look
when you're told
to stop looking
xiv.
Now it's morning
and I'm listening
and it's morning.
Amy says Simone Weil says
Art has no immediate future
because all art is collective
and there is no more collective life.
It's a trick of the light
and I'm not used to this light
after the brilliant compromises
of night.
And it's morning and I'm listening
being held in the voice,
and the world isn't ending
and I'm morning and you're night
and it's coming
love unbroken by the sun
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Author Bio: Luke Roberts is the author of False Flags (2011), Left Helicon (2014) and other chapbooks. His long poem 'To My Contemporaries' recently appeared in Chicago Review. He is the editor of Desire Lines: Unselected Poems, 1966-2000 by Barry MacSweeney, and has also published a monograph, Barry MacSweeney and the Politics of Post-War British Poetry (2017). He lives in London, where he works as Lecturer in Modern Poetry at King's College.