(this will get happier)

Post apocalyptic balcony number 13

Barry Lau sat there and watched.
The resonant vibrations
of a dissatisfied society,
destroy the very foundations
of his ideas,
of his creation.

As buildings crumbled
into sea.
He remembered the
dreams of everybody
and saw the nightmares
of life.

Post apocalyptic balcony number 13

At first,
Bass vibration from the wall.
Then a voice,
Voices.

“Bitch”
“You ain’t tagged proper, hear bitch”
“Announce, bitch.  The fuck”

Boot, head, back of head wall.
A muffled fog.
Kid Carl, “No, N…”
Boot, stomach.
Boot, chest.
Boot, temple, head pavement.
Boot, stomach.
“Announce, bitch”
“Intentions, bitch”
Boot, Boot, Boot…
Raining pain fades him.
Clouds, a lost mothers arms.

A confident voice,
A different voice.
The husky voice.
A voice saying, “no”.
The voice of an angel.

Just a kid,
In a bed.
Hurting, like never before.

“A cup of tea my child.” The husky voice of an angle.

Post apocalyptic balcony number 12

Kid Carl he stands,
And walks,
In a direction,
Away,
From Mong Kok,
Away from all he knows.
To Sha Tin.

The road a ribbon
Revolves under his feet.
The peripheral mountains pass by,
Amah Rock, unmanned tonight,
Observes in silent tears.

His chemically empty legs
Move like solid wooden trunks.
Each step a desperate step
To somewhere afresh.

The white lines move on
Rhythmically slow.

Mountains move by
Offering little comfort,
A silhouette against
City illuminated sky.

City lights become no nearer.

Soon The Blocks begin to pass by.
With Scattered lights.
Heads turn away;
And feet follow away.

A gentle fizzing light,
A low bass hum,
Aside,
A wall unlit by broken
Lamp
Offers a place to slump.

(the gentle fizzing light of the lazy orchid)