A Massacre in Mercury
Submerged beneath sediments of ancient ash and bone, the variety of absence suggests the magnitude of loss; high-precision ageing unearthing fountains that loom above the
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Submerged beneath sediments of ancient ash and bone, the variety of absence suggests the magnitude of loss; high-precision ageing unearthing fountains that loom above the
Beneath dusted peaks of mountain dew A dense and rigid backcloth skulks, Worn down and compacted with Fractured decades of aged powder; Trodden into rocky
Beneath shadows Of Spring Mountains The rain dove arcs Across a barren sky, Its trembling shadow Rolling listlessly Above abandoned towns Of silver and gold,
Choking on the excessive vapours Of our abandoned debauchery Your stunted shoots flail awkwardly In artificial chambers of soil and sedge. Your weathered hands Fly
Your translucent skin Gasps gently for breath In the Land of the Noonday Sun; A mountainous vista Unexpectedly replaced With Ziploc bags and Moist paper
The Snowpack glistens Against a late November sun. Weighed down by the burden Of frigid memories that Will later flow as torrents Into empty reservoirs
Leaky pipelines cannot excuse The vileness of your touch As it seeps malevolently From its ancient, grainy prison; Your eccentric composition Creating chemical fingerprints That
Illegal logging in community forests, Oil drilling in indigenous territories, Mining concessions in native soils, These have become our warzones. Activists hailed as terrorists, While
Browsing through the foliage You selectively suppress The spindly growths of youth, Maintaining gaps of light Through frequent visitations To clumsily prune each trunkful Of
Your barren canvas stretches Tightly across forgotten states; Caught between unforgiving waves And starry mountain peaks, Your pulse beats unhurriedly In this hibernation of solitude.