Black Lung - Sandra Staas . . Christmas lights and violent shadows prepare to celbrate the New Year. Antennae perched on gray slate roofs sway mournfully, muscially in the wind.
Empty bottles roll along dismal streeets, and ulcered gums lose blackened teeth.
We arrive at the Victoria Bridge avoiding dreary derelicts, sprawling, crawling. Human stepeping stones, pawns leding to riches where accents are the rulers. Such eloquent screams boom as cannons from those righeous few who rule the land. Yet cannot compete with the wailings of ships' forg horns, worker's cries for equality. Laughter squeaks to clinkings of glasses overflowing with quiet measured merriment.