The View of Anthony Hepplethwaite 2013

With a little tightening round the waist the skinny day comes out to taste the fatness of the light I am in sight of something great but I’m hungry, cannot wait so I make my move too soon and am swallowed in the craters of a Moon so cold so very, very old with its yellow hardened crust that would lead me into desperation with gnarled hands and beard and face as red as any rust turned into dust I would become the dying of a dying sun no matter fat or thin or if I wore a belt or braces the many faces I would see would only ever face the end of me. I try to modify this future that only I can see by praying to a God I can’t and never did I wonder if that God is hid among the craters on the Moon and was it that he made his move too soon? If so, we’ll have much to muse upon as we wonder where our lives have gone and would he tell me how to live or would he give a eulogy prepare me for that long journey? I’ve come ten million stars through another thousand corner half lit bars where girls would sell me ballerina dreams that danced for me on spotlight screens and how could everything that seemed so real be whisked away? The spinning wheel came to a stop and zero popped up on the marker board where rich men whored their eminence and all pretence was stripped away, any other day the Lords that lorded over us would break up parliaments and owls would hoot and say, Wit and to whom would we deliver it? A bit of eccentricity, electric elementary educationalists get me fired up again as if I ever learned from them old men with old ideas whose only thoughts were to get young men up off their rears and into wars, more whores who sold a bill of lading to trading partners who shot us down in front room parlours on council housing states of minds. A kind of beauty in this fractured glass where through osmosis I can pass but not pass away only into some other uneventful day. I lay my tortures on your brow you know how to soothe this pain  before I go off scale again and read a riot act to those, where those who have lain their lives in dirty fields and barn houses full of hay would have me say, that we should not have to live this way. In the craters on the Moon I see that all is all too soon and will always be another eulogy is read for the dead undead who do not know that here is where we are there’s nowhere left to