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 onto hidden platform..
Where...thick skinned beauty skids abruptly into gridded fence..
Where...teenage defence is tightly held to deaf ear.
Steve Coel
Steve Coel
