Giggling Guano
Beneath cloudy, frigid skies outcrops of fertilised laughter glare knowingly from sneering seas; their steady retreat stained by the crooked smile of those who know
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Beneath cloudy, frigid skies outcrops of fertilised laughter glare knowingly from sneering seas; their steady retreat stained by the crooked smile of those who know
As chimney stacks spew forth our tainted offerings of industrial excrement, dilapidated ventilators strain to suck poison from the saturated veins of concrete obelisks; their
Basking in the tainted gloss of west coast rays, these once frigid waters overflow with sustenance, enticing anchovies to cavort along the coastlines; their corporeal
In swathes of fractured colours you wheel across unbroken skies, a kaleidoscope of memory drifting between seasons; patterns shifting sensitively to the subtleties of scale.
Between synthetic, parallel lines drawn across artificially constructed maps, the clouds begin to form. Climbing upwards like giant anvils of cotton candy, a trick of
Swaying steadily in kaleidoscopic fields, spectral fans reflect the turquoise light; their mottled aura straining spectra as warming oceans bleach branches and lighten latticework. Parasitic
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