these eyes don't have a name
these eyes don't carry all the tears
that leak from your bones
are leaving the face
these faces don't have names
these faces carry all the scars
of a wounded machine
a wounded part
of a land
its broken existence
its lakes of radioactive tears
the trails of the children
of the hazy fog hunt the ions
and hunt their eyes
and run their riots
into the void
these lake-bound ruins
don't have much more than a name
a sermon existence
pripjat's dawn
this child doesn't have a name
this child can't bear the aftermath
afloat, agape, against
along the path
these hands don't try to heal
these hands just try to veil the facts
the waters came to rest
the water's shed
florescent walls
in sarcophagus halls
a dimmed heartbeat
is groaning
in the endless corridors
of pripjat's morning
these fragments of angels
mutated pieces of a riddle unsolved
a rush-hour fraction
frozen in time
and still you roam
where the scents of your
hometown dwell
'neath the cancer-well
crawling through the weed
in rain and sleet
and the grain prospects
where the white noise reacts
readjust concrete
and speed up the breed
circle hemispheres
drive the deer in ignorance
child of the sarcophagus
dig the dust of ages
overact the licks
erase '86