Roped Water - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...hammered workplace shoulders scratch tattoo vein..
Where...elevated mirror views reach into roped water..
Where...rapid stone road footstep signals are passed among rivals..
Where...casual shop window seats remain chained to suspicion and small debt..
Where...old newspapers stay untouched..
is the place language comes to die.
Evenings Shadow - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...narrow lane adventures are captured in muddy headlight and cry of tortured bird..
Where...broken lives are inherited..
Where...evenings shadow lies distressed on ripped rock and moss border..
Where...isolated youth walk through decades of frosted vision..
Where...small trees blanket fallen brick..
is the place language comes to die.
Sad Eyes - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...crowded thoughts are positioned above empty guide dog begging..
Where...plastic bag clumsiness shelters in fenced bus stop..
Where...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.
Half Stolen Buildings: Steve Coel, An 11.59 Publication
