factory engines beating
gently and in unison.
there is counterfeit flesh in this district.
plastic sediment falls over a solemn quarter
dimly lit
where flesh is currency

the cisterns of misery
function in unison with the
throbbing udders of industry –
the teats engorged and raw, supplemented with
Steroid
vegetables entwine sad
vines around the bulbous vessels
fit to explode at one-million degrees.

Disembark the
train-train, lower central
the committee would advise,
the network has been deranged.
the minutiae,
born into delinquency
have been
disembowelling
the intercity sleepers.

we cannot allow a
generation of avengers.

They were
haranguing the Great Apes in their
tower block apartments,
south-facing.
They stood in formidable rows,
arms crossed at the panoramic window.
Nightmare Kino.

Yes these newborns
spend all of their time making miistakes –
lacerations constant and
some had only just slid out of their
mothers’ overripe and ruptured grapefruits.

I WILL make you FAMUS.

Counterfeit flesh circulates here,
where sinewy children
leap over barbed fences
with putrid handfuls for the cigarette man

You can hear rot growing
in the partitions,
arterial roots
at the foundations
flats abandoned.

A charred white appliance sobs
in a hallway,
no longer WHITE APPLIANCE but a
simple box
eleven plaited power cables
torn from the maintenance hatch and
molested for copper.

radio spits vitriolic static in a cupboard.
other appliances turned to the wall
baring intimate
components.

arguments between
the detritus resonate
down arterial corridors.
A moribund beadswoman
with a face like
biltong
embryonic experiments born
into delinquency frolic with
‘bags for life’.

Office adornments litter the floor –
a reminder of days when people kept
appointments
Keys and calling cards.
That typewriter had had its keys pulled out
One by one.

One bed in
One of these
thousand matchbox windows
has a corpse in it.
Those small waxen chimps that adorned the awnings
of the dry-cleaners and the off-license
which could once be easily coaxed with small fruits,
are now malformed.
They break bones in t-shirts, jeans and sandals –
they get into primary school playgrounds and
administer the death-grip hugs.
Most breaks are taken
indoors.

we were haranguing the Great Apes
in their apartments, south-facing.
The big governing fingers adorned
high trellises,
the angels Cyst and Polyp made their
final amendments
on a park bench, next to an
old woman nursing a soldier’s
horrifically burned face.

My grandmother was a little boy
in worn-out running shoes.
She was running
with a putrid handful
for the ice cream man.

This is where the railway divides.
I might love you but
The tracks have made their decisions.