Creeping in the waste

It begins to snow  
seekers of garbage  
wait motionless  
gray shapes in the fumes  
abandoned on the sidewalk  
I feel like them  
to something attend  
and probably is the end  
The paving black mud  
taken to bleach  
weapon explosions  
and distant sirens  
icy wind blow over my face  
I love the snow like a child  
the whiteness on despair  
and silent ruins on the ground  
instill to me again  
false feelings whit no sound  
of a reassuring quiet clean  
 
As if it were infinite  
the extending landfill  
the survival for peoples  
rummaging in the waste  
feeding by waste  
in waste made houses  
lives creeping  
in a garbage world  
post-modern nightmare  
obscene fruit consumption  
everywhere and always  
anywhere and unstoppable  
with its infected hordes  
of rats and roaches  
which will wipe us all  
one day soon  
 
Vast expanse of debris  
so far as the eye can see  
in white acetylene lights  
over the distant horizon  
the red shadows of infection  
metropolitan indifference glares  
aberrant squalid scene  
of decomposition madness  
 
Dead for starvation increases  
as well industrial production  
of stupid and poisoned things  
that serve no purpose  
"Something does not work" they say  
nothing new under the sun  
or better said, under acid rain  
 
Of ancient human aspirations  
only that there remained:  
Cancer's mutations  
and viruses with evocative names  
the great avengers  
rised from the pollution  
that permeate everything  
The bitter punishment  
of metastases spread  
for those who CANCEL life  
in the name of profit  
The regret what it means  
over the abyss edge?  
A vain floundering  
in ours personal hells  
 
It begin to snow  
seekers of garbage  
wait without move  
gray shapes in the fumes  
abandoned on the sidewalk  
I also FEEL like them  
to something ATTEND  
and probably is the end  
 
The paving black mud  
taken to bleach  
weapon explosions  
and distant sirens  
icy wind whip over my face  
I love the snow like a child  
the whiteness on despair  
and silent ruins on the ground  
instill to me again  
false feelings whit no sound  
of a reassuring quiet clean