Contributor's contribution: I’m something rhino
In the basement of a Brussels bar, the fluidity of meaning as distraction from the abundance of fluidity.
M.E. Grey is a Brussels-based poet.
Sheet metal muted rings with stream
in these basement morning hours.
Once stance and flow established I look up
at eyeline tag on tag impasto:
and settling in look up further
where is proclaimed on ceiling
I am something rhino
I finish up wash hands go back
up to beer and people
but this sticks in my head –
I go home sleep wake up again and this sticks in my head –
I am something rhino
with no understanding but with knowing its
persistence and appeal.
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Our globe is studded with bars attached to hostels
their cubicle walls besmirched with meaning
careful scrawls for which the toilet bowl
is the channel apposite (stretching down,
as it does, into profundity, merciful
abyss).
But in the basement of beloved l’Athenée
I am something rhino
looks down on human works impassively
and is among its like:
not
the words of the prophets that are written in the urinals
but
particulars of human heads
left as marks inscrutable.