The anguish of the people At the bottom of this dream Has struck me in the face. The things clutching at their napes Metal crabs embezzled with lights Clank and groan and let out steam. I walked among these driftwood people Rags hung about their frames And the brambles of the spoilt earth Were hung about their sights. One’s neck snaps back, a beam Emitted from his mouth Illuminates his terror. Wasteland, cactus land The man next to me is dead And the sky is splitting at the seam.