Monkey Puzzles Shed Leaves

 

Monkey Puzzles Shed Leaves

 

 

Perhaps it’s true who knows?

Iced frost will settle on fire

in cramps. Of warning dire,

it’s all powdered hoare

of thick suffocating snuff

but of cindered heat

there is still little enough.

 

Maybe you’ll read of

worlds blasé to story endings

writhing, its pediculus rending

a stumbled slipped disc,

in deep burgundy basilisk

which still briefly flares

between this and this.

 

Up there could you witness

backdrops of Stygian black,

twisted necks looking back

at plague, heat, flood?

A trifecta of nothing good,

but impulse persistence

continues coexistence.

 

Overhead; still beneath,

iron fissions in toxic cast, flint

space above, below and glint,

in germs of hobnail potential

squatting silent, existential.

Send decay, mistrust, strife

gifting us a half of half life.

 

Hubble bubbly, unlovely

cauldrons boil, gargling oil,

in etiquettes of filthy spoil:

trawl for toxic bouillabaisse,

toothpicking plastic waste,

choker beads, joker’s cough,

will not riffle sackcloth.

 

Slipping away ticks time,

watching an apocalypse dawning

hands over mouth yawning,

a people all over snaps itself;

publications for the top shelf,

weeping semi-healed scabs,

tik-tok, grab-bag, hard stabs

for last post aching fame

rolling riot; penultimate trains

puff out of second last stations,

Olympic record of stagnation,

pastel pants a shallow nation.

 

Frosted ice might snuff fire,

until in grit, another is lit,

and there’s the perfect fit.

 It’s true, all things do pass,

it’s hour come around at last,

through thick clotted trees

monkey puzzles shed leaves.