Peotry

Here’s some more shitty poetry.

‘Revolutions’

We’re greying in the good life

and denied a better way to die

but, good morning – your face isn’t exactly adoring

us, the fattened, well-fed and threadbare

the nameless yet aimless,

long-since dead and totally blameless

taking our hypocritic oaths

and refusing the revolution

but do not fret, there is hope yet

for a falling blade, a thud into the basket

help, there’s a head in there

and I’m in it

‘Hungry’

Licking her tongue into corners of the night

lovingly curled about my neck

‘You’re no fun,’ she said

and began to eat

I smile, of course

her teeth stained the colour of roses

before she circles once about the house

and sleeps

‘Oceans’

Laid fogs hide the oceans of November,

and I fear that I will drown

forlorn journeys upon a black sea

where the sirens call, but never call to me

spurned by the mighty dead

as their breath rasps onto a sagging sail

to be broken upon the shoreline

and rest at last

Exhumation’

Dirt falls from the spade

circled by grave robbers, bone diggers

the scent of rotting gardenias

men gather, speaking last words

as they burn him

blown ash, a skeleton upon the wind

to haunt his familiar doors

and run his fingers over the night

to find it won’t speak, not once, not anymore

‘Streets in summer’

No sunshine beneath the street

smiles melt and leak and drip off your faces

the tar breathes black and snarls upon feet

spitting bitumen blood and untold spaces

yellow muzzles snarl and sniff

as I lower my gaze and pass

‘Stand tall, son,’ he always said

but I’m sorry to say

that I’m scared