Blood is flowing out,
As a meander, in the thing, slips back in.
Walls of grief like weather fronts
Have battered this island for days,
Named storms, like Britain’s;
Tearing at the social fabric, from within actually
Because we’ve forgotten personal sovereignty
Our language craving creativity
As we buy leave, like our leaven
With our anxiety.
And battles are STILL being fought in this body.
The wars are being waged IN my body;
A ravaged body
May seem like collateral, but is the endgame,
Did you know? Until they’re still,
Until Rome has come, and gone, again,
And prophets have ceased their howling,
What chance to even hear their own truth?
This moon glancing cool across desert growing
Whispers: ‘Quieten children, liSSSSten…’
Blood is flowing out,
As a meander in the thing, slides back in.
And I wanted to show you how I pray
But I was sobbing in the corner;
A no with which I’m creating space for a thousand
More joys in a bigger YES!
Til then I’m battening down:
Let my winds howl, like the wild things
Across the craters, that will form the lakes
From which will birth our tomorrows.
2015, Hard Rain