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I wasn't sure |
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As the sky was toffee |
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Feeding birds |
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To the horses |
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Killing the clouds |
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And I cut off my face |
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And made skittles |
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With its theeth |
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I ate the graveyard whole |
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And holes open like candles becoming dogs |
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Well there are |
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Bluebirds |
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Blackbirds |
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Deadbirds |
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Totembirds |
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Baked in pies and praying to die |
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I made them rise |
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From their pies |
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And married the moon |
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And killed my face |
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And threw its quincunx into space |
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The cats are like furry constellations |
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They lap up the Milky Way |
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Speak tongues with windows open |
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In the fabric skulls |
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We wear like bonnets |
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To cover up our empty eyes |
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Behind such emptied eyes |
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The everything bubbles and laughs |
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No empty sketch |
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But quite as vast as children's dreams |
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Who sleep outside of manmade cogs |
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No barking disturbs the sketch of cosmae yet to come |
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Abba Amma (Babylon Destroyer) |
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King of dust I swept up |
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With pan and brush |
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In a rush whilst the berries explode |
