Her urban body is tight against my own. Forget
the kooky; this is a dementia of rubble-laced gardens and metal-boarded houses.
The vision of the city in profile: I watch her skin erode slowly away as
planners and money lenders carve her up like a juicy hot steak. A forked
fraternity’s licked this town clean like a nightmare. Riddz crew painted on the walls in graffiti. Gangs stand around.
Everything is as sweet as a hamburger.
This whole estate is
being removed from existence, redeveloped and re-imagined by our civic
overlords. Near the gang, a team of builders smash down part of a terrace
house. Murdering sledgehammer swings above, ready to cull the space into an
image they see fit. The surgeons play their music whilst they work, cover their
slobbering mouths and have their sterile instruments laid out in order.
Scapula.
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