Here -
Where...crowded thoughts are positioned above empty guide dog begging..
Where...plastic bag clumsiness shelters in fenced bus stop..
Where...empty glassed humour becomes bitter and sad-eyed..
Where...blistered wood window sills hold signed memories of yesterday's bargain..
Where...puddle damp trainers split through confused traffic..
is the place language comes to die.
Steve Coel / An 11.59 Publication
