Seismic Nought

So we let the vampires drain us into submission… Until we have no power to fight anymore Let them conquer our mycorrhizal networks, where special hearts and minds once helped us see beyond the abandoned treasure chest… Until our melancholy becomes desperately soothing like cocaine to a cancer Until we no longer speak it; just assume it - this feeling… We’ll stay half awake, but no more than this in-betweenness - Live just about comfortable enough lives where we can breed love through our offspring, as if it’s only an offering, an inkling rather than a way of being… So we’ll sit with our knives: focused, hearts heavy and ticking As if the only way to protect our children from the lie of the dim light that once flickered from the door is to kill the moth that made it and will one day come back searching… The knife’s easier to use than letting that child leave that room of shadowed walls; to test this world absent of fear, linking wings to our firing flutter form…

So this is how it ends; By them deciding for us how we end our lives As if this old world’s neglect is somehow the determining counterpart… By all accounts - we start

Horror slinky stolen flesh stamped with style - stencilled… His howls haunt the sky so pink and sedated… We sit in the fountain gardens: the blood’s greyscale and faded I wake up with a body open to a deal - I once had these giant chest pains like white hot steel- It’s half of what they feel… His putty expression {does he see these reels?!} Like the mirror speaks - can the camera bleed? We’re immediately caricatured and butchered by section… Counting faster to the dome bell that recirculates our senses…

Green sun burns through the blind glass… He peers through to the boardroom to witness her resistance pass, Brows raised - reads the clockwork slaughter handout, Then smiling, finds the camera, Winking cheaply - now the weather…

Now the one you kill is no one A dot on a chart The blood runs out like beetles crushed The streets tense and stark - now the one you kill is no one Now the one you kill is no one Our eyes will glaze over Not stop in this utter bombardment of absurdity that we will never let conquer our pneuma… Now the lands you kill have no hand Plain that they’re phytocide prone And our heads will not hesitate to turn from our phones… But the problem is they don’t - When the heart’s in the throat, And the more we see the more we know For those of us who believe in the power of the rearmament of real hope - You have no scope And your fault will be re-shown for longer than you kid yourself not to know… Because the one you kill is known now, Perhaps even more clearly to that empty hole you feel inside, where once did lie the sweet soul of a child…

Dear Miss White World, Ravage the stale bread they feed you A wound-up broken girl tool… Spew out lies and venom directed to burn - Say he wanted to hurt you because his beauty threatened your screaming church and the tide has turned… But the tide is headed for you, vast and fearless… And yes we’re time travellers that gaze through your existence… Dear Sir White World, Shape my body into faecal… Suck my beauty then call me the devil… Crawl to the place you don’t have to face that peepshow of you - jelly-gentlemen slaver Curse and jerk and burp on your prisoner… Everything gross in this space of slaughter It’s not a space, it’s a stain… And the trees you’ve used for your strangest fruit game- Will spear into you, make you choke and shake As they remove your poison from the soil you rape… And you won’t escape the centuries of hate at your squirming evil that stalls our great - Cowardly clowns and decked-out fakes No, not now, it’s far too late...

Bees look Sky cusps Breeze wafts We’re hot - Purple lava Eyes of Europa Woken-hopers Space-expanders Not expander-landers Spouting spirit handers… Mars won’t surrender - Venus will avenge her Life will flower Despite your weather Whole species louder Visions of forever… Fix us in the downer… Secure your wager: Lobotomised-agenda That feeling of smugness Won’t linger forever, Stay in the gloom Long enough to skew Maths has one rule - Our minds are a tool To consolidate you But in patrolling our thoughts, The truth sings you through…