on a fag.
Thursday, 30 August 2018
Monday, 27 August 2018
They say there might be a war
but I don’t know, I mean,
I can hear all the big guys
saying crazy stuff
but I’m just not sure there are
enough of us nowadays
willing to head off, hey ho,
hey ho, it’s off to war
we go, and watch our own
innards unspool on our lap.
Whenever it is winter
I am young again,
the cold air is the same air
I inspired the time
the trees first spoke; of course
there’ll always be a bunch
of god jobs blowing themselves
up but I’ve got a hunch
that they’re a dying breed.
Posted by Rufo Q at 10:14 No comments:
Friday, 10 August 2018
Summer in the city
One degree, two degree, refugee, four;
Here are the honeybees stacked on the floor.
Chittagong, Jakarta, Hamburg, New Orleans;
Progress is a million men in metal and glass machines.
Here is the smiling billionaire floating off to Mars;
Here are the endless satellites we thought were shooting stars.
Here is the mountain shifting, here the acidic sea;
Here is the way we have been told it was always meant to be.
Here is our intelligence and here the final bird;
Here is every former thing and each redundant word.
There is a hand that guides us and all is for the best;
So kiss the fist that loves you and put the kids to bed.
Posted by Rufo Q at 02:06 No comments:
Saturday, 4 August 2018
Friday, 3 August 2018
you go back
to the well
they say is
on the table
to the end
Posted by Rufo Q at 16:58 No comments:
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