Another space arrives. The newborn cries.
And the destiny determined:
Oven or matchstick.
Descendant of both; inheritor of another:
A machine that dreams itself into being,
Dragging its sleeping subjects after it.
Sustenance of nightmares, the food of what
God is, blood the earth pumps forth.
The plastic legacy is siphoned off,
Its artifacts cheap jewellery:
Enamel glinting white and turquoise.
Flimsy chains that never last,
And yet last forever, the paint flaking off.
So too does the rust on this delicate orchid.
It is an oracle of poisons.
The city burns in its incandescence.
The indelible halo
Of a lime-green candelabra
Makes light of midnight. Our slumber is
Punctured by gunshots and the drone of the
Not a foot but a juggernaut,
Sowing the seeds of your distress.
Fallout marks the potent epoch.
The neon octopus spews it back,
Invisible print on the murderous air.
Where water drinks
No diving bell can bear
The pressure of such fuchsia.
The first poem in my second collection of poetry, Camera Obscura, available at Lulu.com and Amazon.
Shallow grave below
I am but here
Last breathe taken
I shown no fear
Reverse my time
Twelve minutes before
Alive with feeling
Night time adore
Strangers are a few
Lines on the mirror
Tripped by the shroom
Melting the phone
One hit on the ball
Felt all alone
Stranded by fault
Eyes rolled behind
Numb by the notion
Chilled and unkind
Face down in the dirt
One minute to go
Life flashed of nothing
I am sorry, I am cold
Life is full of poisons, don't take the wrong ones
— The End —