Production             - Nicolas Prokop

Cinematography   - Jack Laing Aiken

Music                      - Aloïs Yang

Birds have become weary of these barren lands

The sounds which used to sweep these hills have been evicted

Leaving only a putrid silence to ward off any strays


Even the sun has grown deluded

Being held captive in this endless haze

Maybe I passed forty miles today

trailing the heels of twilights endless march


I wasn’t anticipating such a stripped atmosphere

                                                       The air is coarse

                                                  Progress is slowing

                                          My asthma is scratching

                           And the inhalers are running low


The hollowing of my innards suggests I should turn back soon

Despite my precautions, these barren lands will dispose of me

Samples from this far afield will need time to acclimatise

But supplies must be replenished back on the south-bound trail

the coordinates where right

I was supposed to go up north

more to the north

where one might think he has lost his perception of hearing


the humidity tightens its clasp on the surrounding lands

leaving my boots immersed by each step I make

nobody dominates this rarely seen chaos

forgotten shapes - exploited behaviours


what felt like moments ago

back where entities justified times passing

I was sewing flowers in the fractures

of the river bed ran dry   


Fluid alleys through what were once woodlands’

Now stagnate – burnt and unimpressed

Unable to seep through the generations membrane

Knowing nothing more than this new age end