REQUIEM TO CRUELTY
(REAL OR IMAGINED)
As I rode home one day, my bicycle tyres
got stuck in
a network of underground spirals
that rose and fell in twisting tramways ~
soon to make me roar and stagger,
crunched in the ruts of a machine
too obscure to
name, and yanking me down
to the interrogation.
In the Continuous
I struggled to grow through
just like at school, in
I struggled to be brave and
I said “Im always careful not
to kill people,
I like their funny ways.”
I asked if I
could go back to the scene of the crime,
a sleepy dullard in disguise.
– Where to? Wheres that?
TV scene of humans being butchered.
eyes that burst forth
all their messy liquid languor.
“Behind the brochure,
where the maniac bloaters are reckoned;
where a respectable firm of dignitaries
tuck in and gorge themselves at banquet deaths,
numb their senses at cold expense,
anxious-less and deftly spread
across the lower ledges of the world . . .”
A child freezes
inside the news.
Hell hath no
fury like my hopes unborn,
trailing blue skies with crucified eyes,
engaging a paltry show laid on by
river-winding, “clever” and
who never need
faith or absolution
cos words often said gain their tread.
something unpleasant about cut-off
wailing, waiting to be outside the
Theres something unpleasant
piled up on a
baby in cot deaths,
to swallow hard,
and tread soft and
on a grown-ups spiteful pillow.
horror . . .
Next time I should describe
just how we live our lives . . .
Entered with kickback,
crazed like a daisy,
thrown down the carriageway,
with bombsite accuracy
to re-mould the one who freely gazes
and leave nothing but
the emotions of a Stuka pilot
in a melody of madness
and broken treaties to the heart of love.
these brainful baboons
should have let the music bled
in case of being sent to deny
theres something unpleasant about
that, inward to look, would
dreams have seen,
if they could.