Wednesday, November 1, 2000


An abercrombie albatross flies far above the dark city stones where dances a cloven hoofed demon with spiral horns and oil socked fur. Its upright caper is rank with obesity and vulgar as an opium whore. The albatross circles, searching for a lost constellation by which to navigate its escape from the destruction below.

Through the urban jungle swings an ape in trees of charcoal limbs, a mask of broken buildings and smoke stained walls. Across its path there hides a strange grey moth, safe from the predators that now consume its pale brothers with ruthless indifference.

Unapologetic we stand, a faint memory of that which we once were - before the fatal revolution. Hell fire and brimstone burns within my liver so recently befouled by our sick wisdom. I stand here now, as ever, a black shadow of the statue I once was.

The albatross circles above me and the ape swings by; over my heart hides a moth, safe against the char rubble of my soul.

- Mike Wood

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