Canto CCIII

The old mattress is naked, the old springs
press tight against fabric like vertibrae
that become visible through ancient skin.

The animacules that founded their state
within its land of nightsweat and dead skin
have no idea that this will be the day

of reckoning for them, the white van man
is finishing his job at the high rise
and will soon be here to ransack their nation

and dump it, pillaged, down the landfill site.
Perhaps they’ll call upon us in despair,
the heavy sky gods that suddenly denied

their nightly rain of heavenly ambrosia?

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Niall O'Sullivan
    Mar 20, 2012 @ 16:20:55

    And I now declare “despair” and “ambrosia” the slightest, non existent rhyme of the project thus far. Not so much a slanted rhyme as a 100ft drop at a 90° angle rhyme.

    Reply

  2. peter litton
    Mar 21, 2012 @ 01:05:13

    “The animacules that founded their state
    within its land of nightsweat and dead skin”

    Wicked writing…I love it. 🙂

    Reply

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