Hank Low Moor..

stood here

on the path

of ancestors

where archosaurian

privileges have passed

there feet

have walked

looking into

the city

of sheffield

hank low moor

on the end

of summer

a light breath

moves across

the pale blue celestial sphere

the naked landscape

full of colour

in the fall of change

strangers pass

into the isolation

there are no people here

just the sound of

your own hart

in palpitation

as the sandal

feet move

upon the dust

created from

the self need

of exhilaration

the petrol head

place into ruin

hank low moor

what would

it have been

to have seen

thee before the age

of industrialisation

I feel thy frustration

of the rape

committed in the name of self-love

you give me peace/liberation

I hold a conversation

of silence

but to often

there is something

to remind me of

the in-humanity

of ancestors

where archosaurian

privileges have passed

not on feet

but 4 and two wheels

have hurled

across thy rough genteelness

a critical mass

of people

have seen

Lincoln cathedral

from the hill

of ringinglow

as the city of sheffield

has grown

crept towards thee

in time

you shall return

to the earth of your mother

as the flora

of her reclamation yard

is growing

in the vast wasteland

of urban dereliction

is the salvation

of thee hank low moor

on the day

ill shall spend

the night of nigh

we shall cry in joy

watching the city

overtaken by an orange glow

go back to darkness

once more

they shall be

more than a

fair weather friend

as the city comes to an end

I shall be as naked as thee

drunken fools

of the intoxication

of liberty

the anarchy of

your slight self

is a wealth of joy

here I dream

of us both being free

from the confines

of the self imposed

will of ancestors

where archosaurian

privileges have passed

trespassed against thee

hank low moor..

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