Here -
Where...purple eyes glaze across a stubborn river..
Where...stripped bare wall paintings spray the cold message of futile argument..
Where...narrow lane romance flickers over roof ridged border..
Where...small rusty badges and yellowed brick are etched on pointed walking stick..
Where...cheap tables split abandoned doorways..
Where...cliff edge bramble holds litter to ransom..
Where...puzzled footstep is matched with clumsy frail voice..
Where...second hand clipped fashion rails spill strong alcohol and stained toxic mist..
Where...narrow concrete staircases funnel nervous jealous glances..
Where...beauty is hooded..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
Steve Coel
