The Country of Peaceful Death

Scarring sunlight gleams and bulging
acrid grapes, sweating marrow,
sheen ungodly and profusely
in the country of peaceful death.

My new motor-powered hearse
covers the distance, hillside town
to smokestacks - powdery red.
An uncanny, potent aroma of combustion,
yet the green outside ages in dirt.

Since times of old the cypress
enjoyed the company of youths
once their mothers could no more:
he now stretches up like a flesh beacon
at Three Corners, grasping a milestone.

The Right Notes

As the funeral carriage
grinds to a halt,
gnarled by constraints
every bone shatters:
miserable fall of bodies
toward granite beds,
asperities of lower
piano strings, straws
pulled at random.

All previously held truisms collate,
held together by sheen vapours a
opaline white substance, transmuted
humus of old age, runs profusely
all the way down, into every crevice.

Ionosfere

Sunchimed.

Not as in nature,
but rather, vertical:
vertically disabled,
vertically crushed.

Unwillingly
experiencing different flight,
as described in
the many voices in polvo
pullulating our stairways.

From daze to daze,
comes your turn to experience
the crushing pressure
pullulating your stairways.

Planes

Duvet

Eyes wide open when
skulls and crossbone clad
you, barely filled hoody, dream
of Hinterland factory smoke:
rather, reap all pleasures of illness,
head tucked under your duvet
like a cosy caped Palermitan monk,
fitting shroud for birthing a new self,
some other day.

Acute, intruding, rush
power lines obstruct view,
fiery they scorch a somewhere
you never knew you had,
curdle your brain at brow's height.
If that fever runs higher
(thirty-eight degrees or more),
if Sunday's thoughts freefall
(thirty-eight feet or higher):
eyes wide open, skulls
and crossbone clad monk.

Born

White
is new pink,

soon
to be

The Cræture that Swallows

John and Allison:
Apollo and Dyonisus -
Mæt and Greed.

Into the World,
outwith? handfuls of sludge.

You
establish a
Sextant;
to establish a
System?