Rock Pockets - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...small feet carry heavy living..
Where...polluted idle engines blow rust water into lipped gutter..
Where...emergency words remain anonymous..
Where...stone roof collapse haunts drunken memory..
Where...rock pocket begging is sandwiched between road crossing and loose fingers..
is the place language comes to die.
Honest Footstep - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...weather growls at footsteps and distant noise is ancient and honest..
Where...rain drills fluent bitter nightmare into supple iron smile..
Where...broken machinery sits proudly inside dusty windowed derelict shelter..
Where...silent voices speak empty values to woolen walls..
Where...cold slab chipped rock fountain is smiling and love struck..
is the place language comes to die.
Etched Arm - Steve Coel
Here -
Where...ripped memory is etched into electric wall..
Where...enveloped escape payments lie forgotten..
Where...plastic shopping bag purchase is photographed and questioned..
Where...traffic stamps impatiently along ditched street..
Where...broken fence literature is sprayed on machined older arm..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
