by Sam Downum
If I could silence the rush
With more rush
The din of a hundred crashing
Disfigured machines
Consuming each one’s bodies
Devoured by the dark light
Of the bastard suns
Those forgotten angels
Spread across the dirt splay
Of man’s dwelling (not property)
And wandering with empty
Scarlet eye sockets
To and fro
Of dead childhood memory
Places we were alive
Before we were
One eyed impostors
The black suns forsaken in the
In between – where love
Is course and severe
Flowers with mouths, smiling
And we are whispering
To ourselves
With more rush
The din of a hundred crashing
Disfigured machines
Consuming each one’s bodies
Devoured by the dark light
Of the bastard suns
Those forgotten angels
Spread across the dirt splay
Of man’s dwelling (not property)
And wandering with empty
Scarlet eye sockets
To and fro
Of dead childhood memory
Places we were alive
Before we were
One eyed impostors
The black suns forsaken in the
In between – where love
Is course and severe
Flowers with mouths, smiling
And we are whispering
To ourselves