by Jon Stone
If a rain or blizzard rinsed our skulls
– every one of our skulls –
of their memory-algae,
jetwashed the crusted barnacles
that we call knowing,
and we came to our surroundings anew,
not sure of who belonged where
who would reoccupy the palaces
and sculpted monoliths,
who the vast marble foyers?
Who would nest in museums
and lovingly debrised libraries?
What skirmishes would be fought
over over-furnished bedrooms,
the wings of a stately home locked
in night-spanning negotiation?
Imagine the shifting territorial chart
governing former financial districts,
the settlements made
of various sprawling headquarters,
mapmakers working into morning.
I think we would go mad
with how much there was to take.JON STONE was born in Derby and currently lives in Whitechapel, London. He is the author the gothically-inclined pamphlet Scarecrows (Happenstance, 2010) and a full collection, School of Forgery (Salt, 2012), which was a Poetry Book Society recommendation. He is also the co-creator of Sidekick Books (www.drfulminare.com), who publish collaborative poetry projects and anthologies. He won an Eric Gregory Award in 2012. His personal website is www.gojonstonego.com.