Friday, May 15, 2015

Cymbal taps & Cosey's
steel guitar like light May
rain along the fence
at Morden colliery.
The former 'pride of industry'
defunct, admired now
by Prius mom 'n dad
up island for the weekend.
They moved the town by rail,
dud cordwood cheques
stacked in the so-called
paymaster's hut, uncashable,
& now these Goretex assholes
want to preserve it, like
braid garlic nailed
to grandma's kitchen wall?
Things naturally fall apart.
After spring rain, Players
butts, maple helicopters,
pulpy chunk gyproc &
a blackbird's chewed-off wing
gather near the base
of Scotchtown Road hill.
Primitive accumulation.
Putting things side by side,
not aesthetic choice,
but index.

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