Other installments of the poem Gomorrah can be found
He retreats into his house and pours himself some warm
milk and mixes it with herbal tea. Inside Gomorrah nurtures
a malaise. He knows the smell of the hot rocks outside.
How it struggles and limps in the house via the open windows.
He can see the stone towers through one. Three spires in
a slumbering watch over the city. Fantastic views. Waiting
for the triumphant return of the king whose name Gomorrah
cannot remember. Perhaps it was a queen. Susan would know.
They ring bells from the towers periodically. Loud deep tones
that interrupt his ability to listen to baseball games. They ring
them for no reason Gomorrah can decipher. He thinks about his
time working at the library and about Michelangelo and Jonah.
Jonah would have been about five years old. Michelangelo seven
when he showed them the secrets. The flowering plants and
digging roots. The mushrooms in the woods. The ages have
passed since then. The city mostly abandoned settles into dust.