PARIAH

cold concrete touches the
warm skin of her back
cold blasting winds trace the line of her jaw
she shudders
 
WASTELAND      once a playground for the critique of
               reason and creative activity
 
RUBBLE       she looks back o her past – she sees rubble
 
     golf carts passing on distant hills
       sirens blaring down distant streets
     unrecognisable voices promise things I don’t want
 
PARIAH
 
I need a pariah
 
 
meditative stasis
 
 
what does one see when one meets an objective view of one’s past?
 
 
 
(actual date unknown – approx Nov 98)