Songs for Crawling Skin and Cool Harbour

Empty as a sabbath hour.
In pitch.
Lit by deep sea phosphor.
Swim the proto-machines.
Pink and plastic marionettes.
Strung and propelled.
By satellites.
Across the empty roads of a starved Earth.
Bearing payloads of dust and sex.
Between their bowed legs.
They screech at skies of liquid crystal.
But they no longer have a mouth.

This is Songs for Crawling Skin and Cool Harbour - the second collection of poetry from Harry McIntyre - a brutal and unforgiving collection of his most recent work.