Bloated and Stroked by the Tide
rating: +11+x

Original title: Maggot Time

Oh hush be upon us all,
we maggots in this grave of time.
We squirm and slide,
flesh soft against withered hide,
chewing bitter remnants of ages gone by.

A butterfly lands upon this grave
all perfect angles and light just so,
and wilts and falls like nightsoil on the street,
for these farmers poison their crops
with promises of purity.

Pungent breeze stirs silver trees; a white disc beats down unfeeling.
Far away and far in time, a cloud of billowing grey
Now bitter ash chokes sulphur air
and tarnished needles grey and blue
blacken dirt from red to grey.
Settled haze whirls listless dunes,
a glass of time in lidded sky.

Oh hush be upon us all,
we maggots in this grave of mine.
Do not fret, do not cry,
for you and I lie beside.

Seeker's lantern winks come dawn,
and shapes come out to play, all blood and hate and darkened grey.
In the lantern, pale leaves sweep empty streets
pigeons cross in heavy flocks and reddened iron rumbles through.
High in clouds churn groaning teeth in broken lines,
straining stressors worked for eyeless goal,
and humble roots break in endless walls.

And so it is that trees are silent, unwary.
Reddened air hears chainsaw's roar,
and in our time, we will see
with quiet night and iron morn
that our trees are no more.

Oh hush be upon us all,
we maggots in this grave sublime.
We wriggle and crawl, we bite the sinner,
and when the flesh is up and gone,
then you and I will have each other for dinner.

But love, can't you see?
Shuttered wires burst in cyan lines,
seeping tarry oil on this starless sky.
Look, darling, to the mountains: lidded they be.
Sway and stretch, my heart,
and you and I will fly high above the rye.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License