Whipping Post
Whipping post
Didn't you watch the on coming storm, alchalic words ! blew
Dry into my wired mouth , the art of conversation is stilled, while
Your streets soon boiled in fury , watched by A Queen in her linen and volts
A Doppler Queen, who feasted on broken wombs, swilled down,
Eased in its swallow, phlegm tears of the poor, street dogs
Tired eyes decades in the ruining, dripped like damp ochre leaves
Metal, stone, burned, smelt like flesh off the bone, her veil held dignity
Washed in a puss of lies, psalms hidden, in heavy false books.
And I watch through tired eyes of decades,
the crinkle cut ochre leaves parachuting gently
and with no choice to ground.
The tree has become seasoned and not opaque anymore,
in a light breeze its finger like twigs snap open the clear view beyond
And, i wonder, how many leaves have fallen pointlessly from my tree
Clearly the amount of leaves left swaying on my branches are foremost
In my waking dreams, thoughts, my roots still, and firmly covered.
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