Acid Gallery of Antimatter Blues
In angular waves the street enters the house
Determined to inflict another’s
Dramatic turmoil upon my three-score dull and ten.
We have seen
And I’m seeing, begin to believe
That crueller are the young, for they
Shall inherit cynical streets.
Don’t flap your corridors, but only
Sing to me from the book of shadows
Where the circular laughter of the snake
Is heard. Dancing smoke will bring you to despair
Surrounded by the masks you call your friends.
Ye Seraphim have wings in six dimensions
And overlap their own
Divine impossibilities. We could not ask
For any more, black swans, white noise
In the epic vault of betrayal by design.
Extracted from my brain
Lecithin is but the juice of the mind
A swift elixir too cool for any cauldron
To decorate or just enslave my street.
From my window square I see
Lorries build a cubist parade
Roofs carved neatly into upward bands
And half a world away some light descends.
You can overdose on syncopation, you know; any
World whose heartbeat staggered in this way
Would surely fall apart, after just
Three lopsided quarters of a day.