28 February 2013

Assured Destruction (or, Wheelabrator, Please Stop Making That Awful Noise)

the assured destruction of
her sleep, through the
pluming clouds of steam, billow white,
lofty reminder of all our offal
gone to be rent, particle-fine,
falling through mesh, rejoining
the soil

ashfields, quiet and expansive, a
patch of pale upon the earth,
sequential layers of dross and dreck,
the remains of all our refuse,
ashes to ashes and
dust we are again

and still you wake her, your insistent
whine and hum snaking across the
covers (having already crawled past the
draperies) insufficiently thick to keep
you out, playing about her head….

as if to say: get up, get up, and
finish those last tasks undone by
your blear-eyed sloth, my serried
ranks of valves and engines outrun
you always, belching steamclouds, moaning,
relentlessly, in your ears, here I am

here I am again and again
and again, my force and
fury spent into the air
wreathed round you, a noose
of noise, the pall of an embrace
gone on too long

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