a cry that ends night into endless fields of housing. beyond them skeletons of new [bad word] and desert beneath the pavement under a sky like watered milk. no bravado no shouting or abuse. 
do you feel it when i google you? 

this is not studio light. it is the arid sun which is singling out us. as the ones who will not be spared. in land slides and traffic jams apocalyptic peels of thunder and mist and lashing rain. 
everybodies radios lazing on the same station. 

passing back slopes of dunes to a hazy view of bay and headlands. 
a pure sunset of the colours, steel takes on as it heats to glowing. 

and all got blended together into a single public self. 
though each listens in solitude and confinement and mutual silence.