sorrow of the moon
thirteen winters my heart
has endured and worn me
as a frost
that cot where innocence
took it’s oblivious root has
been squabbled over by rooks
playgrounds of adult weathers
sometimes a tooth would be
lost, i curl my colours tightly
i would keep the squalls of
narrow yet fierce rain in
seldom glanced at lockets
a lifetime i would find an
entire sea collected white
as those frosts that wore me
now is entangled and fearful
creeps amongst my breath,
this stamina of pink so hidden
wolves are upon and at every
nerve ending coldly eyeing
observing the tides of blood
and which proteins make certain
buildings, a tightrope across the
wind, balancing across tigers
fifteen now and those winters
i wear well, tho’ waking is
patrolled by inch mad churches
that seed should have withered
i pursue it’s swell tho’ fathoms
it’s tiny fingerprints seek out
swastikas of democracy, courts
of gallows, seventeen men are
put to quiet
i am in a shadow’s lending
taking tears to their graveyard
depths and cellars of unseeing
witness a ribcage flattened
and skin scrubbed with shards
of glass
drink from my own sadness
whilst encouraged skinheads
wreck someone’s stance
unconcerned soldiers thrash
the heartbeats out from a fellow
of twenty, it’s love does not fit
as if this world could have
more loss to drown with,
entire mountains are under
the song of being crouched
and unannounced is being
sought by butchers
“let your music spill red
that rivers are choked”
and when all dna
has been accounted for
burn down this certain
history of obscenity holes
autumns, fifty one of dying
beautifully broken, see the
pitch of the world’s dark
but wonder cannot be
ceased or the patterns
of colour seized
tho’ fervour ferments
religion misguided by
demons
we shall succeed and
prevail the inhumane
balance
a resistance against
the devil worn attrition,
against the horizon’s
judgemental skulls
