A Move To The Margins

I sift through modern
culture's ashes with my hands
still burning. There is nothing
noteworthy to be
found only redundant styles
That have been badly
cannibalised. Now they
lie so blackened and
broken. It is time to move,
like restless nomads,
towards the margins: where
strange plants and flowers
grow despite this
erratic weather. The wise
among us know that
here there is a glimpse of hope.