Thursday, 27 August 2015

A Brief History of Lightning.





Brighter than day the flash
Remade the room, the wall
The open door that Allen left
That Will Blake forced
Through the word storm of pitiless
Ceaseless cant of terror
To gut & fillet the blue horizon
The faithless minion roped you with.

A shortcut privilege,
Golden ticket used as a bookmark
Like an extra page with no writing on it;
You preferred it at first
Until you saw what it really means:
That you are as much a prisoner
No, more so, more a prisoner
Than they ever were:
So cut off their water supply.

Wage war on rhythm of truth
Project your operations beneath the shadow
Of the wall of lies that creepy
Bunch of infiltrators nailed him to
Not realising that he could,
Would, actually, breath through the holes
Punched by arrows, grape shot & dum-dums
With exploding tips.

There was a bindweed vine found its way in
Sought light between, pushed unseen outward
Against that closet door, bursting rusty old nails:
An ancient technique, not quite parasitism
The chemical musculature of the tendril,
Just a sort of  infantile self belief
& if it rhymes,
It lies.

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