Dejection

Injected with a clever clean toxin

A kind of aching mercury

leaving a powdery residue

greying the faces of its patients

Making of them pantomime dames in distress.

Sinking like a great cosmic plug.

In the centre of you heart, mind, gut.

The heavy remnant, of a light dance soul

That flew away in a flutter of now rancid hope.

Pick up the black tar shards

And heap them like a sack of worn convict bones

That groan still, with pathetic pleas for mercy

And protestations of innocence

All follied whimpers.

Burn them for warmth for the fires

Soothing heat that makes your face

into an early crackling.

Have reached there yet?

The bottom of the trough that the

Swine with grime grins feasted in?

From there things can go only one way.

There yet?

No.

There yet?

No.