31 Oct 2019

We Are 138 #57 - Breath Of Dust In Black Lungs

I often hide in the isolating
of empty open spaces
avoiding crucifixion in the cities
dodging patrolling gangs
of my friends in the distance
who carry torches
and pitchforks
and nails
ready to cannibalize society
starting with their own feet
hammering metal spikes between held-hands
in a psychotic game of five finger fillet
and I watch
as they sprint for death
I approach them --- inching in nervousness
the sane society thrives
only on the wings of poisoned trees
with roots
wrapped around shaken brainstems

In the desert
I’ve found peace in the arid breath
of Hades, his tongue firmly in my mouth
like breathing in dust
in a desperate fit of
inherited nostalgia
pistols drawn and pointed
at the exit wound in my dread
acting in a solo recollection
of some tragic wild western
extinction event

Donny Bleakley is a Canadian poet and musician who makes his home in Essex, United Kingdom.

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