Entrapment
The sun lies fragile
On these salt-stained streets,
Each fractured breath
Of splintered air
Melted and reformed
By reluctant life,
Thick with factory offal
And the taste of entrapment.
Low as a cell-block ceiling
The hazy field, across which
Dunnest clouds meet darker smoke
From fat and bloated stacks,
Greedy and grinding,
Grasping at futures.
And here they shake hands, mingle,
Enmesh, more firm
Than ever links of chain.