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.
Steve Coel
