Thursday 22 October 2015


with broken bricks
and sticks and stones we built a home
for homes. where guilt owns
our safety and our waning health turns
our bones melt and groan under sheltered weights
and when shifting plates spell danger our patience is tried, tested,
sentences end and our pretend lives
are no strangers to disaster, death, destruction, laughter
our homes lean, fall, collapse
before this ancient influence
all hesitance too late and we are
no longer safe. our strength
is in crumbled wealth
but our hopes lie in the rubble of our homes
the struggle is near, and
though we drown in the field we steer clear
of reason and bear this club,
this shield, this shattered dream, this trinket.
stay out of the light and drink the real, the clean. our pubs
now empty our hearts now filtered
danger simply kept at bay. sickness seems standard and
bland words adore disaster
court death and
afterwards we waste no more, quest no more only
adorn our rest with abstract facts.
only emptiness. only glistening quiet
and endlessness. floating queues
and lines

going nowhere.  

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