he mentioned dementia on twitter
it is a frightening prospect
tell you what ~
you pan my tweets
and i’ll pan yours
when the gold turns to pyrites
in the way we write these
we’ll let each other know
only snag is
synchronised decline
will be a flat incline
as our followers leave the stage
why dry why
so where have the rivers gone
my friend
why do our plans run dry
why my friend
is the sky so red
with the dust of a desert sky
gone are the fish we tried to catch
they are rotting on the banks of the why
do our plans run dry
my friend
oh why do our plans run dry
the receding tide
the silk of the sea
of the primordial sand between
our slow toes
as the day goes
where the golden days go
over the horizon of memory
the gilt-edged pages
turning in the breezes of youth
gone feral the urge to stop it all
to sign the painting
this is mine
forever yours
J
today’s ruling class
their masks have slipped
soon there will be a new governing
they will have new masks
faces that look like ours
we will turn away to rest assured
then
their snake eyes will narrow
this one last long hot summer
it was a long hot summer
just like that summer years ago
before it all began
but here we are again
under a plume of talk of heat
and pressure and preciously little else of
droughts and famines and another war far and away
the political shenanigans of punch and judy bleat
as the world burns on its way through space
for it seems our space is just the length of this last long
hot
summer
to think i missed that tomato splitting on the vine
when all the time that last coffee at the roadside cafe
grew as cold as the conversation’s turning
as narrow-eyed tutt-tutted teeth clenched
the moment held
would not let go
our sweat trickled
as slowly
we got up to go
nowhere
of days
i wore a shroud
they swore out loud
i told them
we are living in the dying of days
then they laughed
and pointed at me
walking into the sunset
oh those winter evenings
bring on the bleakness of a winter’s night
that will keep the yapping dogs abay
chase the irritating motorbikes away
it’s going to be alright you say
go to sleep now
wind down the dreams
the curtains it seems
to me a plot
that the ghouls are free
to hoot and oh i do i do
like the dark winter evenings
such a lot
