Adult Hands
Here -
Where...illegal plastic high releases urgent stammered step..
Where...solitary private glass is windowed in shoddy single drinking room..
Where...stolen adult hands are nailed..
Where...blown factory wall rage by-passes toughened water..
Where...sponsored imagination drains away through rusting pipe..
is the place language comes to die.
Apple Canal
Here -
Where...surface anger is scheduled for evening cycle ride..
Where...delivery boxed vandalism is slow hand clapped on coin free street corner..
Where...carded empty building sites play daytime tunes to passing tin drunk..
Where...scooters litter apple canal space..
Where...walking dogs is compulsory..
is the place language comes to die.
Back Pocket
Here -
Where...frosted symphony bamboo foot bleeds into glass split concrete..
Where...silent fingers cup memory..
Where...bloodied alert eyes are street fierce..
Where...back pocket lamps guide bullied handshake greeting..
Where...muted trolley tight waiting is slow shuffled along wired footpath..
is the place language comes to die.
