A fatherless child,
Assumption her mother,
Sings to herself in a cardboard cave.
Her limping, one-eyed doll,
Staring greyly at the wall,
Falls over again, with a molten wave.

The slow-motion traffic,
Woven by ignorance,
Hallucinates northwards, trailing spit.
And here we meander,
Through wet plastic slums,
To drink ourselves dead in the chilli pit.

A buttock bazaar:
Unripe peaches;
Breast of spring lamb in saliva sauce.
Steaming glasses;
Blurred senses;
Worn silk squirms over samurai force.