He was not without sin
But his hands were clean
The only blood on his soul his own
And now he is

Old man on death row
Aging faster than the fools around him
Does he believe that there is any justice in the world?
If there is, it is not reserved for him
Dead man sits

Fifteen minutes to seven
Dead man walks
Five minutes to midnight
Dead man lies

His final quiet pleads and requests scream injustice to the people
Perhaps a thousand miles or less away
Cop killer laughs

Veritas, Aequitas
Just because it’s a Dead Language doesn’t make it meaningless

Man
Perhaps with no Thump in his chest
Perhaps confused a little
Perhaps not noticing the pure white Thump next to him
Flips switch
Nails man to the cross of corruption
And now there is a murderer in the room
Dead man sleeps

Those lungs which gave wind to such wisdom
Collapse
That heart that beat with an Iron Innocence
Slowly bleeds no more
And now Georgia is heartless
Eyes of hope that saw themselves killed
Twenty years ago
Glitter, shimmer, flow, run down
A cheek of a ****** colour
With federal crosshair tattooed upon it
Then dull

Libra, chained, looks away
Governor nods in satisfaction and corrupt pride
Broken scales lie on the floor of his office
Troy Davis is dead
The World Weeps

Tarmac under foot
Bootprint in gum stain
Pigeon among thorns, warble from ghost
Wind between railings, xylophone of souls
Altar for vagrants, drunks and rovers
Graveyard for worms of steel

Footstep footstep footstep
Echo, silence, echo, silence
The Wait.
Out of the moonlight, floodlight
Bone of back against wall
Tentacle of mist, droplets on window
Thunder of wheels through the emptiness
Deafness, echo, silence

I remember the shadows of empty mystery
That cloaked the door as rot cloaks a stagnant pool
I remember the dingy corner it crouched in
Just out of reach of the old and wavering lightbulb
I remember how I never seemed to see it
How it would seemingly meld with the dark as I passed
I remember the call of curiosity’s mouse-hole
Drawing me in like a noose around my drumming heart
I remember the tired paintwork as I stroked it
It crumbled into my hands and coated my palms like ****** ******
I remember the corpse-like wood that lay beneath
Gnarled by time like the hands of a long dead Messiah
I remember the moan of a seldom turned handle
Mirroring the sudden cry of a crow outside in the grey cold
I remember the hurricane of dust that migrated out
That clogged my nostrils and choked my throat

I remember the Flesh Eating Monsters housed within

I remember the yelp, and then scream of a child
It was me
I remember the clunk of a barrier restored
I prayed that a door would be enough to protect me
I remember the rush of musty air down my throat
As I trembled up stairs to the open arms of safety
I remember the tears that rattled my eyes
How they ruined the shoulder of the jumper you were wearing
I remember the love that I felt for you then
I was a bundle of innocence sobbing a funeral march
I remember awaking to the chill of my sweat
And solemnly promising to try to forget

I – Rain Over the Dying Empire
The Weather Forecast looks grim today
This mess won’t clear up any time soon
So button up your jackets and turn up your collars
And mark up your calendars for a time of grey skies
There’s a storm on the way
We’ll all be blown away
The reign will never end
Until we’re washed clean off the map
But don’t you worry darling viewers
Just find yourselves a shelter, you’ll be fine
Don’t go scrambling in the smog to find hope: it’s always there
It pains me to be the bringer of bad news
Oh! Dearest Public I always pride myself in saying Tomorrow will be a brighter day
But oh! My friends I also promised I would never lie to you
We have serious weather warnings on the way
They will ravage your livelihoods but don’t let them take your souls
We stand strong against the tide of the oncoming gale, the hail and the thunder
If they weather away each tiny bit of all you hold dear
Raise your fist to the angry sky and scream for what is right
I promise, one day, sunshine will be legal again
I’ve tried to make you laugh and I’ve tried to make you cry
But it’s difficult when describing the movements of cold air across the land
If you ignore the hot stuff blowing out of parliament these days
It’s possible to force a smile: a fraction of happiness for hollow promises
They know nothing of how to save the world, they just want to escape
They’re harvesting the strong so they can find another home
Sure, they bejewel their guillotine as it hangs above your throat
Because they think that you’re impressionable but my advice is let them think so
Because Nature wants out of the pact she made when God abandoned us here
And they just want revenge because she’s stronger than they’ll ever be
The Mother they used to love, that they cast down, has come to kiss them with her poison passion
She won’t ask for their forgiveness as she beats them down, begging for hers
I’ll leave you with my darkest secret since you probably won’t see me again
As they surround me I want to let you know it’s been incredible
Striding through the desert carrying you upon my shoulders
And so I’ll thank you and blow a goodnight kiss to you
If there’s anyone they’ve left alive
They have finally come for me
Goodbye

II – The Broken Figurehead Speaks
We interrupt this broadcast with a message from the high command
Good evening noble people, please ignore what you have just heard
And keep on working for our greater good
For as we all know, it is better than theirs
Regrettably, my tolerance is thin for behaviour like that of our darling Weather Reporter
And my mercy is negligible for those who stand against us…

III – Martyrdom for Sunshine**
As I stand above the ocean, with the army at my back, looking out at this sunset
It feels like the first time I have seen such beauty
Though waves gallop into the cliff below there is a malleable peace
It penetrates to the deepest corner of my heart
As they load their guns and prepare to fire, I think of the others who they have killed
And how privileged I am to have the sun as the last thing I see
If God will have me I’ll happily join his angels now
I look down the crippled rock face to the water, miles below
What have I got to lose?
I’m going to learn to fly…

Demon from Depressed Depths
Horror lurking in the murk, squirting myself through liquid nightmares, paranormal animal portrait
The walls of my bedroom are black, the ceiling navy, ****** sun above me winks in mockery
My friends are few in this frozen almost-society; I wander the briny fog in boredom, purposeless
Eyes swollen from swimming, swallowing so much salt: dehydrated underwater, skin pasty and ill
I hide from starving sharks and their terrible tiny teeth, but duel the diving whale: he I can drown
I can ***** forth literature; the pens of Whitman and Carroll were filled from my blackened innards
From fingertip to toetip I am nearly biggest, in a world without fingers or toes, primitive appendages
I am all knowing: I commune with the dead: I can operate a Ouija board alone with all these arms
I was killed off by Tennyson after just 14 lines, but Lovecraft made me what I am: heathen deity
Wonderful creature, yet I find myself here: battered next to chips in a polystyrene tray: Beach food

I: Hypocritical Accusations of a Jealous Knave
I could have sworn the Queen winked at me as
I laid my Royal Flush on the table
Clubs
She was always the prettiest
Hers is my suit:
I imagine myself as the Jack
Who turns her from Monarchess to
Adulteress in the Royal Garden
Maybe slip her a stolen **** or two
To spite the King for he always
Outranked me
The chances of being dealt it are
Sixty four thousand, nine hundred and seventy (ish) to
One,
If my luck is running out,
Why must it be wasted
In the gaining of ethereal money?
Why not conserved for the selling of my soul to
A queen who is not ink on laminate
Card?
Or at least not here in an
Imagined Vegas or Montecarlo where
Neon, though colourless in nature,
Forms a blinding parody of a hell, hooded
In green and pink and orange and yellow or more
To pass as a heaven for
The wannabe vagrants of brat nations
Who may weep pennies for a disaster,
Remove the split onion, retake the shining knife
And bleed brass, nickel, copper and
Slaughtered tree (more ink) into
An impossible lottery
Hoping for a transfusion with
Monetary hepatitis and all from
The blind benefactors
Apply a plaster and
Reabsorb oneself into the mirror
I too am guilty of all this

II: Inside the Dreams of a Madman to Be
Checkmate.
Oh how the intellectuals do duel
Yet spill not one drop of blood;
Like the bishops of old before they were
Confined to diagonals
Who would carry clubs instead
Of blades to preserve their
Sanctity:
Keep it white, not stain it red
Or brown, dotted with congealed black;
It is a wonder to paint
But not to see or to feel
This was before the days when
Bleach could hide one’s
Breaking of the LORD’s commandments
And before the harnessed
Lightning strike
Killed the LORD himself in his creation’s (Midnight)
Eyes
And so the bleach was not needed
Yet still it sold because
Grass stained trousers:
The fruits of a hard summer afternoon’s
Labour in the sun
An atom of wasted
Childhood well spent
Could not be called a sin

III: Nonsensical Ramblings of the Recently Awakened**
The eyes of an ivory cubic
Snake in two parts leer up at me
Does this mean defeat at the hands of fate?
Nonsense! I am the hand of fate
The left, disused one to be exact;
It is not chivalrous to use me
Yet I am the hand of many things
I know nothing of hands or of dice
I tell lies instead

I gaze up at the world with two bloated eyes
I am monochrome, terrible, but beautiful, never vain
My hunt is but a leap of faith
I know you! You could **** me with a footstep
If you do I’ll try to poison you
I will Fail
Break all my teeth: I will never smile again
But though my sweetest smile was at best a grimace, I still rue my loss