Signs of terror

Lighting strikes the earth
blame is a comfort blanket thrown
 to dampen the flames of fear,
we are all stained

Somewhere people aren’t really famous at all
and death is the miracle cure for fat people.

Somewhere inside
an internal light, this morning
shone.

I listen hard enough and I
swear I can rattle away in silence.

There is a war there,
served with sound bites, politics, news camera filming
capturing the dappled light of today

A large spot light, a
glimmer of a razor edge
somewhere, in a different latitude you just make out a director
saying

“I am becoming my father,
hair, cheeks and jowl.”

A sign of terror,
below the cathode rays spit out colours,
a snap,
a crackle,
a pop
the aroma of perfume and of opal eyes.
Coca-Cola, Mickey Mouse, white bread God.

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