September breeds thick black storm clouds that linger
atop skyscrapers standing on catacombs, screaming
down on that soaked sunless desert – splattered
sprayed and showered in red sludge and cordite.
The dead tree provides no shelter from this pelting,
persistent, acid rain of man.
Thunder – tastes of rotting flesh and thorn trees;
boomings – marked by gaps of still silence
Metallic gates clink and pierce eardrums and latch
and cancerous green vines grip white fences and gag
as flickers of sons fade smaller and colder
until nothing remains of their flaming red match
Cast your gaze down
on that ashen
The city reeks of cigarettes and sex
covered in piss and stained with regret;
while glowing eyes reflect stories of cunt wars and trump,
brains softened and battered by radioactive meat bruisers.
Where is the meaning, the hope, the Divine?
People scream as they commit suicide.
Muses and Sirens dance and soon fleet,
racing off promptly to Homedale street,
where the soup’s always boiling and boiling and boiling
and boiling and steaming
Ketamine pills filled with realms of repression
attempting to bite their own smiley faced teeth;
and fathers unleashing their heart-felt aggression –
fuelled by the fear of their sons being gay.
Father, oh father, where art thou you father?
Father, only in heaven you lay,
with wind and wet rain and giant balls of bright gasses,
conduce me your wisdom
Devour the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever
witnessed, with your insignificant eyes,
and wonder and ponder the potent perfection
of a magnificent omniscient alive laughing planet.
Floating and floating in harshly cold desolate –
emptiness – twisting with spirals and pray
for skies filled with colour and beauty and starlight –
and green leaves so wet,
dripping recent rain.
Father I see you you are always dancing –
dancing the Argentine tango and rising –
setting – dancing in trees where we’re raping
everything give me more money you whore.
More power, more pleasure – please spare me your sorrow
Nature – satiate hungry dismay.
While that match keeps on burning and ashing and cracking
returning to nothing but the black dust of life;
fertilising soil for fresh seedlings to sprout –
to grow and to breathe, to dance and to Die –
to grasp and to clutch and to feel the fresh water
running through veins and sustaining Life.
Nature feeding Nature feeding Nature feeding Nature
we are all Nature – how did you enter that body and wake?
What is it that’s reading this page?
The curtains are closing – the end drawing near,
quick now please set the stage.