I Hear The Thunder Crashing

Unpublished pieces

Patterns, aching, destruction. 
Quietness hurting with intensity. 

I wander in a daze, capturing the 
meandering phallic symbols of my going 

and coming 

and seeking 

It is a restless drone that precedes every other 

Clock is ticking, 

Somebody is waiting to die. 

Jumping shallow in a pool deeply toned 
and thinking that the first thing 
I shall have to do is to cut your hair 
until you whimper. 

Anger, rejection, reflection. 

Pools of bombs exploding in a shallow zone. 
Wandering pick-pockets hurtling their defence. 

I grab a tire and it rolls me, 

rolls me, 

over the druid passages of underwater lights 

I hear the thunder crashing, 
crashing and it's smashing 
the deodorant of the metaphor.

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