Thursday, 3 September 2015

The Possible Song

& we never hated this place so much
we burned it,,, mice huddled in a rat
hole,,,, told we are so luminous, we made
the cosmos and its guts, every intricate
detail. & love, not that, together we
can make the abstract noun a verb,
the idea of a street & all of the people
in it: colleagues and endorsements

they came in and showed us twilight
after twilight, ritual correspondance
sun boiling the sea at high tide
words bled across it, violent persuations
any sense of rhythmn shot & perished
sent us to the sewers with cut up hands
took all of our life's work, didn't even
tear it just threw it in the ground where

it could take years to rot, terrible heaven
environments and charms, not there:
mind inconsequence. feet: to be
cherished. Dolls: sat properly, total
fetish: deportment: enforced and not
before time. We were physically sick
refused to do a thing and now there is
nothing we can do,, save your breath.

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