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