Even on sunny mornings night time shadows move among the rusting steel underpass
..and the road above is ripped through with blind street eyes suffocating in splintered rain.
Oily shapes are squandered along the collapsed kerbside shop fronts..
as twisted paths sheepishly carve a route across knocked out grass and broken bales...
Here salt smashes into rock path and dripping cliff; here, where weather growls at footsteps, and distant noise is ancient and honest.
The cracked window wired doorway smells of cheap red wine and restless sleep as, stubs of burnt paper, shaped into tomorrows nightmare, mark the time where dreams begin and life ends.
Walking Notes
Steve Coel
Perhaps this isn't a good thing.
Who knows?
Walking Notes
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
