The Golden One

14 Oct

High Noon and not a shadow in sight

Naked shadows steam like osmosis

rainfall, reversed, alive collide cold cut elbows slash

ribbons reaching towards luminous moon.

the sky is green is cold in the windows to the east.

we go to work

in five hours we return home

the shadows are lit on the pavement and the sky

is a bright blue

that is not bright

the sky is a soggy purple

then we go to a play, about toil and how good it is

the sky like a black sieve, pierced by silver drops that tremble ready to burst through.

The moths beat on street lanterns.

The old ones know that they are soon to die, useless,

and such that is our life, due to our curse, collective difference

in equality. Our crime.In our heat, strange are the ways of evil.

In our heart. We we dare not speak it above a whisper.

And in the history of the collective many,

the ancestors of ancestor,

the wings of segulls beating over the black soil,

eyes dark and hard and glowing with no

kindness, no loving, no guilt.

Then one day they came close to the hedge and turned to us. there was no smile on their face.

They turned back.

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