Distribution of the peacock seats

I left the dream  on a moulded street corner,
ghetto’s of red dirt
were build nearly towards heaven,
the rancid magic of the machinery,
the deserts around them
became acid liquid fire,
the pillars of salt screaming
for a saviour,
the scavengers fighting brutal
amongst themselves,
digital eyes and ears on every corner,
in the towers the stone cold skeletons
get turned on by their fragmentising
manipulation.
The old goat is groaning
ecstatic in the hard rays
of the twilight,
he’s dancing hypnotised
with the ghost of confusion.
(The year before the emperors
  plasticized the Mother)