Pupils swallowing the shadows,
skin washed away.
Eyes sore in the cloudy moonlight,
another slow coach, another five miles.
A rumble of pollution,
blowing a hole in the tin.
A red devil,
sweeping a corner, tyres to to the white.
A loud drum steals the night,
gathered in the west wind's arms.
Travel by the black and white superstitions,
fur and bones crowd the slick wet.
