March 12, 2012

Factory Act 2012

each evening feels like the aftertaste
of a filterless cigarette

the sea indavdes the room everynight
we listen to only echoes across the shore

the mornings are lone bus rides through a deserted town
the ghosts look at each other
the ghosts sigh
the ghosts howl into the night

finding nothing they rub polythene on skin
inhale acetylene
talk of harder metals
and leather clad bondaged virgins
under a sky full of neon lights

each word comes back again and again
till they loose their meaning
finding nothing else
we rub more polythene on skin
inhale acetylene

(this is surely not something felt by the majority.....and so the title is wrong perhaps..too bombastic....but to hell with it)

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