Something is wrong with(in) the natural order.
Monster takes leave & takes the world with him.
Exits cave; emerges from a system of sewers;
pauses over the hole of manhole in the street; Monster
hobbles lightning speed & where he rests the spaces
become derelict, he squeezes habit even out of stone
& air, the structure where he moves always subtracting
from itself. A soapbox speaker clamours over heads. His
style is ragged suit, with pinholed many-coloured paper flower,
& cigarillo dangling from fingers & from corners of his lips,
the speaker perorates, ‘Cherish derelict spaces they are holes
in habit, what cracks in the existing order.’ Monster, spastic,
mutilates the scene, stares in silence, immobile & incensed
or volatile; lifts the speaker from his crate, disappears into
an unseen point of vanishing, constellation points,