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May 11, 2013


What’s the old adage?
About company and crowds?
There’s three people in this marriage.
A stealing mushroom cloud.
Tiptoeing to apocalypse.
And we lead it ever on.
According to the script.
Written when the sun shone.
But, now the sea has boiled to dust.
Rips the veil from the city on the seabed.
Amongst the lead and stone and rust.
Lays the bible that we raped and read.
You pressed into my palm.
A pebble from my forgotten past.
Whispered, careless and calm.
Who knew how long it would last?
Let me press my thumbs into your eyes.
I will leave this life and burn it.
Dresden, Nineteen forty-five.
It’s worth nothing ’til you’ve earned it.


From → Poetry

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