Tree Litter - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...slip leaved footstep shovels misery along a siren alert high street..
Where...cold hands shake out the truth about childhood romance and early death..
Where...broken promises are guaranteed..
Where...hawthorn trees loiter among the erratic stones of ancient pathway..
Where...wired ridge hillside animals shadow tin roofed wooden shelter..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
