I walk by the beautiful shit river Dodder flowing
Through fallen rubble and serpent city weeds.
People mill by like so many ants moved by the
Paper pheromone scent of the societal hive,
Forgetting beatific animal essence that glows
Inside forever coiling forward motion,
Divinity supressed in industrial machine body.
On the train I pass carcasses of fallen industry:
Rusted tin roofs the colour of seashells offering
Brief beauty in carrion decay, gleaming poignant
Through gutted dreams.
When did you grow and when did you die,
Oh ghostly parasite of men’s dreams of progress?
Pipe dreams replaced by hopelessness and narcosis.
I think of young men like ( ),
Blasting himself with booze and benzos until a
Grand malicious awakening to a reality of frustrated
Adulthood never quite entered.
And another, saved by a Narcan tenement angel
On adventures overseas.
I think of lyrical ecstasy of beer, music, and taste
With I, and P, and O, into early hours of the morning,
Until some tired bus shuttles me home through weary suburbs.
Of poetic waffle and beatific philosophising
With B and F, and countless other anonymous initials
With so much potential worthy of expansion into
Whole beautiful names and forms, drowning in rivers
Of soon forgotten sessions,
Flowing seamlessly behind us,
Along tracks of eternity through
The serpent city shedding its skin.