Under consistent rainfall
There were shadows
Apologising for slayings,
Politicians sat forward to cry
As rebellion rumbled
And change took the breeze.
We span into numbers
As rumours moonwalked
And money fires burned,
A scent of despair in the air,
Drawn on smiles
And populist illusions,
We did it and made it,
We were there when it ended,
Then we painted it better.
Magic blankets fall
A crazed beauty descending
As travellers weep
With seven glass-eyed tramps and twenty beagles I hide,
A hieroglyphic stamp of silent war breathes genocide,
It’s fortunate I’m stuck inside a box breathing your fumes
Because if I wasn’t here I’d probably be stuck in a tomb.
The killer in the skies is just a broken memory
Look inside it’s eyes and all you’ll see is a mystery
Of how the witches drowned for doing nothing out of sync,
This clockwork universe is just a hair’s breadth from the brink.
Surrounded by smiles
And the sweet gurns of brilliance
It’s hard not to fly.
Slacker Shack
Dunstan Carter : Poetry 