The stark afternoon
opposite the charm of
the early morning shade

before the terror,
the sermon and the gossip sneaks through,

the systems respond where
buildings dominate the prefix.

The whistle-blower and the correspondent
share laughs in the bunker amongst
shorthanded fables of false prophets.

While outside the ceremony,
the broadcasters looks sea sick green
but he will toe the line.

Faces will crack under the weight of this.

But there are other joys
there are molecules
scratching across the surface

there is the ethics,
the prostitute,
the unknown
this bloody beard.


One comment

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s