By Parson Thru
Is it harsh of me
To look down from these walls
Across the rooftops of a former life
And be appalled?
Is disloyalty justified
When scars redden
And the welts reappear across my back?
Whose fault is it that I’m so different?
Better just to melt away
And let the demons be
To not disturb the dogs
Would that the arc could be so smooth
As simple as an early morning flight
Then why not?
I have no fear of Dantean torments
No millstone weighs around my neck
Great Peter doles its mood into my reverie
The river running through these walls
Rises to its banks when rain falls to the west
Its waters bear a constant threat
I feel them brimming now
She and Us
Nature: the sewerage pouring through your door
Nature: Departing Manchester 6:30 for Madrid
Nature: the Phoenician
Groaning at the bottom of the sea
Nature: the demented mother
Ever-present stench of piss
Nature: when nothing else remains
But what I can do for you
And you for me
And the final end of everything