Here -
Where...cliff edge bramble holds litter to ransom..
Where...cold slab chipped rock fountain is smiling and love struck..
Where...mobile notes are glued to pavements damp with summer..
Where...waistcoat watches lie trapped in muddied brickwork..
Where...skin is scissored..
Where...sunlit sea crag is clogged with blue nylon futures..
Where...plastic sand cuts foot and dead wood..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Documentary Fiction Photography
Steve Coel
