#abolition
fear rose | a big choking risen by red-blue flashes and I pull over, past
the intersection under a row of street lights | thinking about my education, my nightgown waiting back home, wondering why
on earth | where are you going | where are you from | have you been drinking | who are you | who are you?? | clang in my rearview mirror,
a pair of cruisers circle in, intensity creaked in brown-nosed perplexion before black eyes, bloodshot, bothered, real country on the breeze
this balmy night and please don't hurt me,
the sound of slippers across
the kitchen floor is so hazy from here.
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 10:28 PM UTC
Clearing ivy,
pulling up handfuls of
choking bindweed,
uncovering delicate
wildflowers in
neglected garden corners,
and there’s this
tiny bird
lying in the dirt.
Feathers sparkle
pretty and golden,
as fairytale light
falls through
parted vines.
Surely dead,
but then
- like Snow White
surfacing from
magic apple-induced
dormancy -
the bird moves,
woken by the kiss
of sunlight and
being witnessed,
and seems to breathe.
A gloved finger’s
exploratory, leathery ****
a moment to realise,
then disgust,
sharp recoil.
A wing lifts;
gleaming feathers
parting reveal the
crawling mechanics inside,
the writhing, parasitic mess
behind the sick illusion,
the briefly faked miracle
of something
like life.
Away over a fence,
Union bunting
***** erratic and jarring
in a neighbour’s garden.
In a stuffy town hall,
the town band is practising
God Save The Queen, but
still can’t keep time.
Our betters wave to us from
high palace balconies
and golden coaches, and we
cheer them for it.
There’s such hunger, such
pain and desperation out there,
you can feel it, if you
forget to stop yourself.
There’s so much tragedy and injustice,
you have to go numb or go crazy.
There’s no future we can see,
and the past has been rewritten
to reflect the views
of focus groups,
fascists and fantasists.
And there’s a bird
lying in the dirt,
garlanded by fragrant petals,
feathers flashing like jewels,
so dead
it looks like
it’s breathing.
Jun 3, 2022
Jun 3, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
The city is melting in the screams
In the dead of night,
From thick skins to thin skins,
So accustomed to fearful, bloodied scenes
As you walk through or past
blinking in the putrid smokes rising up like an atom explosion
compelling you to gouge your eyes out
or rip the flesh off your bones
You're knocked out in a floundering hill of carcass
I was there
I was scared
Unidentifiable in the crowd adorned with courage
As my people should be
They targeted me anyway
Emptying the barrel of a dozen revolvers
Hundreds of black-clad Darth Vaders
besieged my space once taken to be safe
Gone are those days entrusting 'law and order'
unmasking itself as a little less human
cutting innocent lives shorter and shorter
learning that it's after all a shape-shifting demon
"When I grow up I want to serve in the plice
Fools, you see what they want you to see
A provocation or condemnation
And they give you a taste of merciless damnation
My people play no part in the conflict
And yet. The demons in blue and green
orchestrate and construct minefields to ****
And yet. We don't plan to forfeit
I say 'We' on behalf of journalists
I say 'people' on behalf of journalists
also happen to be People with Emotions
Finding middle ground when the earth under your feet
crumbles. Living in Commotion
Power-hungry bodies are dark voids during a war
because money buys protection
because status breeds greed
Empowered bodies are overcome during a war
because all they feel is pain and fury
of measures shaking them to the burning core
They fired shots after shots
manhandling our right to exist
Our weapon of choice is the pen
we'll show them
tyranny is so close to its end
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC