I.
The cranes are pecking at the
mudflats
Scarred ground and glass
Unresting spirits, in torment, the
ghosts
Of terraces down west and east are lost
At night, great
red eyed rats sit atop
The office blocks
Great red eyed
rats, fat
They have evicted even ghosts
And
busy making new ones from the young.
II.
Cup aloft in flowing throng, young, tall and blonde he loudly
calls “Can anybody help me”
Falters his voice through heaving halls, "Can anybody help me. I'm homeless" receding backs "Can anybody,
anybody. Help. A hurry, hurry of hair and cloth stickles past the
paper cup; stick to the path in forest, for many are lost; to the escalators “Get out, Get out” The bluecoats shout at she, traffic powdered pallid hurt, knees up, sunweathered
spots and anger. Shouted "Get out" as the portly lady just put a KFC
bucket at her feet. "Get out" when she got a mega bucket at
her feet. She standing now clenched and shouting, silent; not her parents, the numbers, she, we, we've all seen the numbers, all of us, the figures; kid's gait, small storm, zephyr in
an alleyway till the grey, bitten hand carved of
frostbite says.
“Go get your food”.
III
“Les enfants danse sur la
cupole" seulement
Without religion
They offer opiates and racism
Like the bones are no longer in our
mouths
Like we miss a season when dead flowers
bud.
The children are crying in the tunnels
again.
Git, git, git
Glug, glug, glug.
