Beware metallic lamplight. Limp inside the building. See the hygiene apparatuses: how they’re glistening and seething.
Eavesdrop on a roughneck: ‘Let’s go fuck her in the chicken shop.’ Witness a dull green phial of liquid shining when the light’s off.
Edgewater Towers | Garry Pumfrey | oil on linen | 120 x 97cm | 2010
Venture where the priests won’t. Then stagger to the window. [‘Consummatum est and fuckit’: hear this muttered sotto voce.] Brace and breathe against the bolster. Next go lie prone in the portico.
Pout and taste the chilly pebblecrete. Accept whatever trouble costs.
