It could be dusk, it could be dawn

chemical shower
It could be dusk, it could be dawn

It could be dusk, it could be dawn;
the sky’s the same old colour of smog,
here and there dark clouds pull faces
and make silver-lipped yawns.

It could be dusk, it could be dawn;
factory towers smash the skyline
(broken stick figures’ poorly assembled limbs) –
they smoke and puff and scorn.

It could be dusk, it could be dawn;
the breeze carries a fresh taste of motor oil,
dirty rainbows pirouette on air streams,
on our lips the taste of burnt popcorn.

It could be dusk, it could be dawn;
nobody’s got time to smile anymore,
permanent bow ties between our eyes,
souls pulled out, trampled, worn.

It could be dusk, it could be dawn;
no one gives a flying fuck anymore.

words and photography by Ramon Ramirez

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