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.