His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
This is the fifth digital collage created to illuminate Eliot’s “Preludes.” You can see the others here. This is new territory for me and I would welcome honest critique.