Untouchable night. Rainbows riven & forged
in rusted iron. Sweet Christ! To be born
into this! The light mutates into splintering
Post-modern. A crown of fibre optic & razorwire.
Concrete cross on a wasteland. River runs past
Eve & Adam.
Dreams gear down into underdrive & the city
skyline is blunted by fathom deep cloud. River
runs past Eve & Adam. Into sad mire & bogland.
Here, in this untactile, tactful, unplaceable
place, every face is the mother-smothered mask
of a solicitor, cast in a grimace of distaste.
Here, there’s no explosion of laughter, no riot
of colour: only the supped cup of numbness &
quiet disquiet. The river trickles like a slag silted
tearduct: lustless & lacklustre. The television
articulates our fears & lack of hope: now that
paradise has been lost; and poor wee Alice has
been sucked out of the looking glass.
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