07 Jul 2008
In a furnished room on Centre Market the police radio is always on
And a man sits there dozing listening for the night to fall
While across the street the Black Marias haul in the killers, pimps and vagabonds
Crowds will gather for a new disaster, lovers kiss and children turn to clowns
Stalking down the darkened streets at midnight a 4x5 Speed Graphic round his neck
Looking for a shot, some light, an angle; the perfect murder, fire or wreck
Around the edge of every picture there’s a darkness creeping in
And a subject frozen sharp and focused in unconscious language gesturing