A broken bottle of grief.

Five or so on the clock. Radio off. Leftovers, the sound of car tyres on tarmac, and planes distantly roaring , imperceptible diffusions and sullen confusions of interposed space, contracted time. Distance lends disenchantment. Concealed, revealed, perfect in every detail. Total forgetfulness. The resemblance to the truth. False premises, public property, private eyes, privatise, publicise, hung, drawn and quartered.
Acutely aware, vaguely unsure, ignorance rather than bliss. The numb skull. Always the less, a figure of speech, a figure of fun, a horse on the beach, a kingdom to come.

Immaculately saturated fat of the land with or without sugar and pills, I see the condominiums of futures past : the glass looks out into glass that reflects itself and nothing, repeating itself endlessly, seamlessly, meaninglessly, mirrors of emptiness, mirrors of illusion, conflicting and confusing the sky and abstracting the ground, a contraction of vision, a void made external, a blank presence, a blank present, an eternal neutered now. Between a sea and a ( s ) hard place, in permanent stasis.

This de-structured quasi-terminal conductor/ inductor, an electrode implanted in the brain of the city, a broken bottle of grief, a negative energy accumulator, a hermetic solenoid, sealed stalagmite, an negative pole, vertical incision, glassy missile stuck on launch pad, a threat or target, ground zero hour, no lift-off, a dead shaft, waiting for ignition, with no mission, no control, counter-productive, inverse engineered, an erect hypodermic anaesthetising the atmosphere and piercing the sky. Scattering violated clouds, reflections of delusions, belittling and deflecting, a dividing needle, an instrument of torture, an optical isomer enervating and emanating distorted waves of static, a wilful insertion of malign focus and concentrated powers.

The opposite of a radio tower sucking in energy and crystallising distance, confirming and imposing separation, silencing voices, blinding visions.