Grey skinned young losers
Glaring down from the towers,
Framed in neon and dust,
Cracked windows and tears,
All broken industry.
Perfect squares
And the dawn of the ‘me’,
Of the ‘where’s mine’ and ‘now’,
Steel fences and granite,
Bad teeth and greed,
Filthy screams in the dark
Coarse as wild, strident rust,
Spreading like rumours
And pulsing like dusk,
Electric and concrete,
All sampled disdain
In the rain,
A rumbling hearse
Passing through cities,
The calculous curse.