A lurker awaits

 one hundred meters beneath the surface
The wreckage of the ship certainty settles into the mud
A monster continues to move
 It bellows far beaneath the waves

 The creature patrols and lurks
 It hides around the sunken structure
Patience older than the ocean itself
 Occasionally pale shapes pass above
 
Disappearing before the eyes can establish what it was
 The creature is centuries old it knows the shapes
 It has been there all along
 waiting for the next ship to sink

Interchange shade

 Walking back from the adventure
From the try hards and want to be's
Its good to know
There are no short cuts

Incoming trains
the nature of the railway
The carbonized steel indifferent
The lines come first the journeys always

No comedy
Platform unsteady
Mimick a bystander
You better adjust

A generator counterweight rises and falls
The train system so efficient
No easy way out of the station
I fell off willingly, scared but ready to go

You must pretend

 People pretend to be something 
They sing and dance in public
just to get a glance 
Some cheap attention

For me there are colored walls
Piece of food and platic wrapped up
That is called leisure
Or living

But infact there seems to be no point to it
The gyms are full and the food courts too
The retail shops aggressive brightness
Human fishing human fishing approval

I walk away
I see this tacky distraction
which for most is the illusion of purpose

The unused filter

 The cylinder was dumped an hour ago.

It looks like some sort of fallen spaceship. For tiny aliens.
It looked pristine and completely out of place among the old pieces of litter.
Awkward old and moldy shapes and materials. But the filter was completely intact. Clean and unstained.
Though most of the people leaving their cars to dump their rubbish couldn’t recognize its shape and simply ignored it, as it was in their minds tainted by the wastes.

A young husband and wife dealing with their severance from hippydom and into family life.
They were hauling out a window frame with a good main pane and a wonderfully decorated stain glass. The woman almost tripped over the air filter.
“What the hell is this?” she says.
The husband looks back at it. “it's a vat of agrotoxin used on the local corn crops.” he snorts cynically.
“Eew.” She says.

An older man in his fifties came upon it and actually picked it up.
His nephew spoke up “Oh whoah.”
“It’s a new robot stomach son”
His nephew looked up at his uncle unbelievingly.
Why would a robot need a stomach? His nephew thought.
The nephew picked it up and threw it across the landfill.

A girl and her mother were throwing out old paper and damp books. The girl saw the air filter land close to the last books she left. She picked it up. It was so light.
She turned it in her hands, her mother continued to the trunk of the car and came out with her arms full and threw it all down, just keeping her daughter in her peripheral vision but not actually checking what she was doing.

She attempts to throw it exclaiming please dont touch the trash honey. Except the air filter catches the wind and makes it back into the daughters hands. The mother turns red noticing that other people have now turned to observe her and her daughter. Her shrill voice had given her away. Her daughter's giggling felt like an irritating social sabotage. Her arms wanted to reach out and throw it again this time far away where her daughter wouldn't get it. But no, now the eyes were there.

The air filter looked at her daughter's favorite new toy.
The woman let her keep it. She didn’t know what it was and almost changed her mind as she drove home with her daughter playing with it in the back.
After a morning of the daughter getting acquainted with the air filter she opened the purifier in her mother’s bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Her mother asked. But the daughter tucked the piece in. It fit.
“A new filter mom.” Her daughter said.
It was in fact working and as both mother and daughter both put their heads against the purifier.
The hum of it, comforting and homely.

The incredible inlet

 The last vestige of summer slowly gets pushed out by north winds
A beach where the local council shipped in sand to make it comfortable
Rockpools that come up to the waist extending from small reefs
Colorful seaweed and adapted corals can be seen from the top of the water

Big fish can be seen in the transparent waters and they approach
Fish whose fins struck out of the water and run along the waves
A brother and sister both young fishermen too attractive to be poor
Yet something crushingly local about them

On the side of the bay sat a palm protected from the north winds 
Everything seeemed out of place for the latitude
Seemingly too warm for a place where ice and snow would eventually claim
Like a fantasy given it's own temporary life

Ochate And the curse of the prison

 The wide drive way gives space for a dead community
A place that once thrived
Now it is abandoned
Long practical buildings

The mountain cloud drift slows for dark afternoons
The people left after digging up a subterrenean prison
A structure that looks like the spine and ribcage of a dinosaur
The curious visitors look down from a safe balcony attached to the building

After the uncovering apparently there was a haunting and some form of curse
So the people living there moved to Vitoria Gasteiz 
They were not recieved well the story of the lazaretto being well told there
Understood as the legacy of misfortune

Those long sinister ribcage like prisons were not really prisons
But places to put people infected with smallpox
There they would be kept until they expired
A darkness yet exists there behind a secret door

Swimming pool precarious

 The shack wasn't there when I got back
Just a pool deep enough to drown me
But I lay there comfortably afloat
Late morning sun very scalding
Deep blue sky full of the heat of the day

The water reflects the sun
Surface is spotted with blinding brilliance
The upon the wall to the street
An electric distribution box

Thousands of wires and plugs
Zig zaggin out of one another
So close to the water of the pool
One tiny arc of electricity I would be no more

My body slowly glides toward the box
Then backward again toward post
The cables above connecting the lane
There was a spark coming from a loose plug