From darkened lens
it feeds on the soul of the landscape,
a panoptic succubus
dulling green, blue, yellow, orange, gold, brown
muting sounds
subjugated to humming machines
pounding metal,
oiled and blistered,
A perspective
determined by architects, city planners, engineers
a fixed line to visualize the world,
whats beyond
is prostrate, unimportant,
hidden behind malls and crowded
fill-up stations
boasting minimum charge ATMs,
Obscured lives
move beneath us,
absurdly seeking
a righteous path, a
greater meaning,
of syncronicity
rather than coincidence
and longing,
A photographers voice,
the blind man's curse,
locked away in forgetful undeath
while unseen wheels,
perpetual turn,
carrying us, eternally,
to nowhere
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