It’s hard to know just where to go
I have these feelings
they drive me nowhere
but my mind
everywhere
flies and flutterbyes
flit glittering golden ways
days turn into one night
un-night
fright of death.

It is evil

I don’t know who will show the golden way
it may be said and spoken
already broken
the Token
I shy away and cry
it is not for me to see or say.

The Token
golden tarnished
black ungleaming like the first night
the eternal hated un-night
coming long before all daze.

The Token I hold in my thoughts
unspoken but well versed
spat and cursed as evil
shown a child of evil
of the devil, revel, dance with me
I’m free
but the gift is a weight
like only Atlas could bear to bear.

And like Prometheus:
bare, broken, blistered, ruptured, defiled and devoured,
while all his children huddle around the gift
and name it Progress,
while all their children regress,
as buildings crumble, stars dim and tumble,
as steel rusts and rivers bleed,
as babies cry and vultures feed,
as Mary – denied in need,
as Jesus performs his awful deed –
he awakes the dead and they turn rotting eye-sockets
towards the sun and weep.

For all I see fades
for all I hear dulls
for all I touch dissolves
while taste and smell is rot.