Sneaking out at the back, sneaking in at the front III
Live and dirigible
With skin and ribs and hydrogen breath
Floating in the sky till the ground brings death
None of it as bad as history has painted
Tame disasters exaggerated by media’s uncontrolled urges
To register its power and attitude surges
On radars not yet invented
Uncommitted sins already repented
A last drink and meal and one for the road
Live and dim
Now your fire has cooled and your wrath exploded
I did not realise the gun was loaded
Or how itchy that finger was
And the tendencies displayed to run and fall dismayed
He is the stalker and the grave
Of all their cruel inventions
Progress like this was never our intention
Now widowed and willowy wound down
Like a whispered and played out sound
Always it’s the death of it that meets us
Back on the ground.
A place to park those random thoughts, stolen images, hidden conversations and incoherent babble from beyond the wall of sleep. Odd bits of music and so-called worldly wisdom may creep in from time to time. Don't expect too much and you won't feel let down.
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