Planless Sydney’s crammed; just here, Queen’s Square,
A clearing and clean thrust of brick above
The lunchtime swarm in huddle or in groove,
Vast Pac-Man game: now step/now stop/now veer.
Up Philip Street, Chicane’s parade looks dull,
Black robes like drooping sails. The Public Good
Troops by in grey (though dreams of rival blood
On office floors are gaudy in his skull).
Down King Street yelps Consumption, aging cur,
Chews the air or gulps a coloured fly.
Meanwhile, all pigeon-pooped upon her square,
Victoria as corroded faith waits by…
Saint James, like fired bush, finds sun, sucks air,
And sings through every tingling brick O Purify.