Conflation

A seedy part of town

where mattress strings sag and

peeling porches slump to

paper cup trails crowning

crack stained walks by crowded 

crusty patches of filth.



Past its time, past its time,

gone to seed, flying to

every place and dark

crevice---gone to seed---

read disguised potential

hidden hope of new life.



Step out from crooked jambs,

reframe reality,

'gone to seed' gloominess,

Untangle disrepute,

seeds of all potentials

settle everywhere.




Seed gone to glossy high

places where money rolls

tuck into agendas

wrapped as propriety,

chic notoriety,

looks 'right' but perhaps it's

just a screen.



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