Abandoned, dilapidated places have always produced mixed feelings in me.
There is a sense of fascination for what nature can do to human-made artifacts and then the sadness of what all that (buildings, devices, concepts) might have meant for someone and how it became souless.
These lines stroke me:

strewn dictators,
beauty of kilned decades
sullied by inattention.

They speak to me at very personal and emotional level. What i feel today about abandoned, dilapidated spaces is no longer fascination. When you stay in a former blooming place for too long to see dictators ruin everything and the transformation takes place before your eyes then you know what a person trapped in an inundated cave, condemed to drown must feel.

You see rust take possession of metal and cracks never fixed become gapes in every sidewalk or street; when you see vegetation dwindle along with their houses, their inhabitants, and the provisions, then the magic is gone and all is left is the sour taste of tears and blood.

In the same way parents are not supposed to bury their children, people are not supposed to witness what their creations, their source of pride will look like once their are gone. Buildings are imploded after they have been abandoned. We have reached the imploding phase and soome of us are still numbly going up and down the building unaware that the bottom has already been pushed!