We picked apart our brains in the Summer plumage of industries afterglow

placing feet to feet in ruins incomplete on land once lauded as gold.

The sun was setting behind piles of brick that once held so many individual histories, but not no more since the world moved on without a whimper and forgot the many miles it had forged with a million young hands.

The lack of presence where promise once was felt peaceful. 

Not like i was tampering with a sleeping lion but instead was buried in the ribcage of a dead god that was no longer relevant. 

Industry decays in the same organic manner as organic matter, the effects on the grieving are the same. 

But there is creativity in every crevice,

I held aloft a single tire whilst balanced on another upright and recited

"this too has passed, this too has passed"