Is that smoke over there
on the horizon signals forming words in the sky
un-folding grey balloons of matter
a warning signal to guide us
to the right path
coming up from behind tower blocks
the pine cones of red pin prick light
dot the buildings at night
where the money grows over night
blossoms of concrete form like spectres
of humanity living burial grounds
we walk on bones crunching underfoot
all futures mingle together with pasts
the citadel is gleaming
the rats are thriving
they like these unstable conditions
it gives them hope
for the future
they want to live
to go on
to have families
to be unburdened of worry
to drive the freedom road
burning up the efforts of labour
in plumes of callous smoke
the birds are tweeting still
the sun comes up over the edge of town
where homes peter out into industrial estates
a few gaps on the map
old tracks
closed shops
fancy goods
underwater theme parks
where you can scuba dive among the wreckage
find codes hidden in the weeds
remember how they use to live
the ones that came before
when the charity shops begin to close
then it’s time to worry
