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
Waiting Room
I struggled to grow through
a brush-stroked
amnesiac wave,
just like at school, in
half-starved innocence,
I struggled to be brave and
well-behaved.
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.
Peer through
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
automatic “believers”
who never need
faith or absolution
cos words often said gain their tread.
Theres
something unpleasant about cut-off
heads
wailing, waiting to be outside the
fence.
Theres something unpleasant
piled up on a
baby in cot deaths,
to swallow hard,
and tread soft and
slow
on a grown-ups spiteful pillow.
A decapitated
mushrooming
psychic
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.
To re-cap:
these brainful baboons
should have let the music bled
in case of being sent to deny
theres something unpleasant about
cut-off heads
that, inward to look, would
dreams have seen,
if they could. |