IncineratorIt is curiousHow now demolished landmarksOf roaming memoryStill triangulateThe form and structureOf my now adult dreamingTo a place where all the cities' rubbishUsed to get burnedAll the fetid ragsAnd rotten black bin bagsIn a huge concrete buildingWith a pneumatic claw on trolliesFurnaced until their fickle flightUp that tall sulphurous chimney.I sometimes sit behind heavy rivet glassAnd operate the controlsAnd sift through the smoldering detrietusPulling out the charred remainsOf mangled old bmx bikesHoping one day i'll findmine.
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