21 February 2012



There’s a tear in the sky

Where the rain gets in

Acid soaks our treetops

Sulphurous and acrid

It seeps into our waking dream

Bleaches our imagination

And burns into our horizons

The poppies tears

Are heart pleasing

They render us numb

Stoned at root and branch

To the burning fingers of death

The squeaky fan belt

The bleeding ferris wheel

The rattle of a stick in a bucket of swill

Latent memories that leak carbon monoxide

Into sealed vehicles –

Old hoses and recreational suicide

Bifidus compounds and bottle tops

Used condoms and sanitary towels

Exhibits in our gallery of nonchalance

Artifacts in our museum of chaos

Who eats, drinks and breathes this shit?

Who produces the mountains of trash

That threaten to engulf us?

Are our inorganic existences

Our cellophane wrapped lives

No more than effluent

Gushing from a fractured pipe?


1 comment:

  1. Effective treatment of the wasteland culture phenomenon, fascinating photographic pilgrimage into the rotten belly of our postindustrial society, a fine homage to the roach ideology habitats. Masterfully direct and directed.