WHAT SEPERATES US FROM THE STREET

 

Joyful fear incline concrete bones matter

 

Pick up a new script empty old found things

 

Scatter them between us and the street smeared with

 

Everyday fluids blood piss etc

 

 

What came before will come again they say

 

Yes we are talking about the apocalypse

 

That separates us from the rolling news

 

Steam rolling its way into oblivion

 

Our favourite world 

 

A swift kick in the nuts away from the broken tarmac

 

Roots push up through patchworks of paving

 

Rejoice they say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One End of Fear

 

 

 

Poems lost in error

 

replaced with new words

 

like peace

 

and rest.

 

Let’s repaint the world outside

 

with the grief explosion of our aging hearts.

 

If we have the chance

 

to lift life’s heavy rotation 

 

can we also broach these congested roads with other journeys made?

 

Let’s take away today’s crisis vote

 

where we are willing to concede

 

that the rain is right.

 

Even if what we have done to it was wrong.

 

Excited for a silent feast that sits upon the matted mind

 

growing faster than bulbs in the dark

 

slipping over the edge

 

into the slow retrograde infinity

 

of the open mouths we need to feed.