The missing beat of what once was.

It must still be there somewhere?

The secret of a dank basement;

In a cavity below the Annandale perhaps?

Hiding behind a silverfish-eaten carton of Tooheys long-necks.

There it sits, in a sea of dust,

Floating on a rotting Battle of the Bands poster.

There it sits, suspended in fluid…

A spiderweb covered jar of formaldehyde.

But the spiders have moved on,

Only shells of blowflies remain

Cocooned in dusted and matted strands of silk.

It glints green from a crack of light.

There it sits, inert and still,

There it sits, lost and lifeless,

The missing beat of what once, was.

Shriveled like a bleached kidney,

The cultural heart of Sydney.