"PLANETARY TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER"

black rotten tulips
and dahlias
drenched in blood

choal-gassed snow
line the most precious
of our avenues

vampire worms
in their gelatinous orgies
squirm in the cranium
of a raped and mutated canine

sour anchovies,  purulent sardines
the mushy pulp of decomposing guava

the chives and shallots green from mold

the broken spine of a toddler clenched
in the maws of a dead wolf

the horizon once shimmered
in violet and gold :
strange dyes and stranger colours
which exist
not more ---
we killed them
we suffocated them
in a great grey blanket of smog

only a sardonic thickness,
a blackness without origin,
without reprieve, without antidote,
propel through the cirrus cloudery

seagulls brood over sterile eggs

birds hide in their small holes

swarms of dead butterflies
drift on the foaming seafront

disoriented turtles move inward
to die on the atoll's dry dunes of salt

sea-birds nest beneath the purulent ribs
of a whale's remnant
washed ashore in stink and mist
unceremoniously

a hundred swans hang lynched from there
to sway in total twilight

the gasses abscond like toxic fire
pillaring towards a nauseous sky

even the scorpions
which crawl amongst the stones
die from the heat

even the viperfish
which swim in the deepest depths
succumb to the pressure

the teeth of a horrible saw
tears through the bough of Yggdrasil

we are doomed as a species
and that is a good thing

"BLOATED OCHEROUS SKIES ABOVE INDUSTRIAL HELL"

the sun is drunk on blood
the sun is soaked in sweat
the sun is covered with tar
the sun has spots

the boulevards are draped in dying gaslight

the sun is weird and swarthy
the sun has bruises
the sun is jaundiced and broken
from its endless labor
arund the earth

broken trombones blare the cacophony of industry
beneath the bloated ocherous skies

blood stains the cobblestone  
as the strangled harlot is carried away
under palls of interminable darkness

and the puddles of alcoholic vomit
tributaries to the Great Thames !

a palette of  broken human life
raw sewage and all of Satan's smog
disgrace the life-vein of Albion

Rejoice ! the resplendent glories of London !

blessed be these days
when the Capital of the Empire
float on debris and rotting jetsam

               * * *

dawn has broken ---
the women knead the beige dough
into a thick and stocky bun
as broken men congregate
around their breakfast tables

droolings of light
descend
fall
upon the pungent tripe --- there is nothing else to eat

nothing more than a measly plot of grass
they own --- at best...
many sleep with the rotting dogs on the foreshore

look ! come laborer, come foreman, sick they are the same !

serenade of grotesque physiognomies
caught in a sick satanic funnel

stare into a million shovelfuls of coal forevermore
as you pass the spade to your son and die your death of depletion !

miners and bricklayers
navvies, sweeps and mudlarks
of the new world dystopia ---
start the machines,
light the shafts,
man the signal posts
flood the factory floors
breathe deep the gas and sulphur

rotten teeth rattle on the factory floor

black is the darkness which runs
from the pustulent wounds of the phossy jaws

sacks of pus overrun the oral mucosa
in acts of biological warfare

a foul discharge emanates
as corrupted skeleton rots away

the terrible agony of a ruptured fistula
terrorizes the poor woman

the saliva drips from the sequestered mouth
into the silo of white boiling sulphur

there are consequences to being a pretty match-stick girl, right ?

ignominy is destiny
an endless poverty in disgrace
becomes her lot

hideously deformed forevermore !

here is no peace
here is no thriving
here is no health
here is no pride

here, faces are furrowed and brows are craggy,
cheeks are blanched and they are
stained with tears of resignation  

their bodies bulge with chords of muscle,
with tortured tendons stretched snap-ready
speckled with flea-bites !

life under siege, molestation of the soul,
the fathers in panic and mothers in resignation
as they sell their children for stale bread

terror-shudders befall the filthy worker
beneath the mighty ferruginous facades of Metropolis

the skin is assaulted by the mire and excreta
and attacked by sickness-demons
and fat, wealthy industrialists
with demonic wings and horns of fire

children crush to death in the clogs of the imperialist machinery

imperious potbellied elite
how they yelp like bitches
panting and squeeling
for yet more wealth
yet more gold, yet more might

modernity is the ultimate tautology of degeneration

"EVEN A HASSOCK WILL SEEM BEAUTIFUL"

even the when the final pest dies off
we will note it as something tragic,
something wrong and foreboding,
something that could have been avoided,
a kind of great tragedy in and of itself

because it carries implication :

what it means is
that the final pest will die
because it no longer has
any crops to even destroy

things changed in the end ---
the farm-fields burned to scorched soil

no more trees
no more water
no more flowers
no more air fresh to breathe

were we not all disturbed
as even the parasites were cleaned off the surface
of this raped little ball,
this cosmic wanderer, our human home ?

even the extinctions of roaches we will lament
there on the final days

in the end, the merest thought of seasons
will seem to you paradise, something lost to time,
something vintage, something glorious

in the end

even a hassock will seem beautiful