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.