The gasworks by Dave Kenyon published on 2011/12/07 18:28:43 +0000 Thick, full-funneled, Moisture-laden liquid dissonance, Plastered unnaturally high. And I, an ugly baby grown grey As the granite guardians That once lay under loam At the quarry face. The gas works stands condemned. Ghost faced killer. It has taken the lives of men Who still wait wearily in unheated corners For their giro day. A home only to the de-possessed, It will never release their youthfulness. Yet they claim this precocious day through The images they’ve trapped in a bag of fumes. With plastic sheets sealed Around the doors, A poor pipe sucks a rich exhaust. It’s a hungry death On a lonely moor.