This wall is my bible:
I write scriptures with a spray-can
to tell of the concrete god
who loves no-one
but his sons; the pylons.
Arms outstretched,
they wake up from their metal slumbers
and hum in praise to the electric messiah.
I believe in the iron madonna
whose child, stillborn,
rules every wavelength.
I make the sign of the double helix
to ward off demon DNA;
the source of all our misery.
At this computerised crucifixion,
god and man both fall, unplugged.
