We bathe in crimson thoughts, deeds
their lingering stench, urban decay,
as far below, the city glows
concrete and steel, twisted
forming a hearth like old friends,
human waste in black trails, spiralling up
foul and choke the watching, captivated
unwilling to switch,
from chaos to calm

Here, a cage, thick wire mesh,
floor, to floor above
keeping out, or keeping in?
in dead, lifeless heat, hard to tell

Gravel whispers, “Move!”
crude grunts, not to be vague,
each stage, demands of the act on show
“Less!” smoke heavy on their breath
no need to mask intent,
though sure that I do, wear less
as with menace, hold their gaze

At last the body moves, mine
cooler, with the slight breeze
and, as their eyes invade at will,
in camera, I dance, a brief life
captured, on a lens, then turn,
slow, deliberate
if only long enough to know,
their death becomes them

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!

By cyncoed

Old & Welsh

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