Scavenger, scrag, a crow’s craw, there’s nothing beautiful here,steel shorn right away,roof flapping windless,time is caught in little squares of fractured windows, the skeletonsof things, a factory dies.
Around the foundry, a detritus of now: dog-shit, condoms,fast-food scrap, the throwaway grotcaught in light and shadow.The furnace gapes its maw, and in between each tooth of cogand wheel, lichen spores and browns.