birth of time

Birth of time

Time be alive,
we, like trees and peace ,
are raised to the ground, beneath even,
for the fortune-shackled chasing tail

Exfoliate. The shed skin of the moon,
grown to imitate sunbeams and bows of rain,
a petty soldier of circumstance, newly divorced.
Only to be shredded like memory stained
paper, petty change down the reverend throat.

Blinded was the halo of GODblinding the sycophant mirror to shards
of light

With scene of crime drenched,
in shadow-lines from the pencil of time
on paper,
rickety spiders hurrying their
burdens down the green mile. Naked.

The wound lay waiting, patiently biting nails; waiting like a room
betrothed of doors, invisible.
Like a room wailing woes of witnessing war,
upon deaf ear, after year, after year.

Solemn and sedated in sun trance, eyes of ageing
falcons betrayed belief.
The machine it was. The daily standard honked in newsprint ink blotches.
The still-water prey, suicidal in glee
arrived with the cigarettes for the night.

This is the reddening sun turning blue. This is my birth
coming on a little too soon. Cried some child
on all fours.
Madness and chaos embedded
in microchips,
sold like sanity on the street, sold like hell.
And I watched the souls turn to eternal flames