Stretched Bone #1
Here -
Where...voices falter and fingers strip lace and metal..
Where...oily shapes are squandered along collapsed kerbside shopfront..
Where...dreams begin and life ends..
Where...old smiles are reflected in rust..
Where...ugly water washes up dead fish..
Where...faded memory eats up roofless factory space..
Where...damp cloth pulled tight obscures fading gossip..
Where...cluttered twisted ornaments stride down sparrow allotment fenced path..
Where...for the cloth eared, movement is ghostly..
Where...warehouse beams trap steel smile and welded arm..
is the place language comes to die.
Stretched Bone #2
Here -
Where...weather growls at footsteps and distant noise is ancient and honest..
Where...rain drills fluent bitter nightmare into supple iron smile..
Where...broken machinery sits proudly inside dusty windowed derelict shelter..
Where...silent voices speak empty values to woollen walls..
Where...cold chipped slab rock fountain is smiling and love struck..
Where...happiness is hidden in fly tipped back lane..
Where...crafted leather shoes sink into warm mud..
Where...gum fleeced stolen memory crumbles on to hidden platform..
Where...thick skinned beauty skids abruptly into gridded fence..
Where...teenage defence is tightly held to deaf ear..
is the place language comes to die.
Stretched Bone #3
Here -
Where...small feet climb cob-web steel tree and pram wheels fall into strutted path..
Where...slippery eyes fix on glassy oil pavement..
Where...shredded cliff top grass twists halted message..
Where...bitter, blameless minds enter watered down invisible strips of grey..
Where...dead fruit is picked clean by unseen nightlife..
Where...barber shop windows reflect passing stooped daytime..
Where...cheap toys are solitary on garden wall and stolen trolley..
Where...lost faces merge with elderly condemned brick..
Where...suspicious tin badge statements are worn like dismissed broken attitude..
Where...wild animals pass through broken door work place..
is the place language comes to die.
Stretched Bone #4
Here -
Where...Sunday morning dead mans clutter waits for eager hands..
Where...open spaces become dog bound and burnt by fogged spite..
Where...anonymous kiosk cards are pierced carelessly on stolen spiked rod..
Where...skin is scissored..
Where...tacky metal emblems cling to half shredded, sprayed walls of distant commerce..
Where...yesterdays comical events sit buried in vintage blue cement..
Where...blistered streams fall into backyard carpet shed..
Where...dull flowers pilfer hedgerow litter..
Where...stoney-engined vehicle bruises centre lane grass..
Where...weightless men saunter early into cotton hospital shroud..
is the place language comes to die.
Stretched Bone #5
Here -
Where...thick water sucks daydream along nostalgia painted high wall..
Where...blank splintered openings face corrupt wired rubble..
Where...small cracked attic window looks down on worried waiting shadow..
Where...hollow buildings mirror collapsed monument..
Where...tired sea-salt fairground shutters mute spent messages to gloomy eyed visitor..
Where...blossom heavy stone lounges outside fenced in destruction..
Where...pick-up warnings are scratched into street corner metal..
Where...blank looks remain stubborn with old age..
Where...rules are manufactured and secrets appear down narrow gulleys..
Where...anger is buttery..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
