The sky is drooping
Breasts of a woodland hag
Stirring her cauldron of atmosphere
With the stench of rotted breath
While this looming appendage
Gapes down on us
Like the foggy eye loop
Of some indifferent nineteenth century scientist
Whose tangled beard springs rodents,
Scampering willy-nilly while he speaks
Tobacco caked sanctimoniousness'.
I watch them trickle down the rocky crags
Of his tawny deception
Amidst the dunes and wadis of his complexion
Yet I know it's not the Man in the Moon
But the cruel face of some pathological interloper
Cool, moist terra never felt so good.
My fingers divide her rippling tears
While She cries for the children
Suckling at her body
And my feet have found the need
To immerse themselves in her soft flesh
And burst roots that grip at her supple skin.
But His embrace has deepened
And its static electric gravitational co-signature
Suspends us almost weightless
Bouncing around light as moths,
Soon to be inhaled into the fiery pit
Of his raping kiss.
Some may survive the blistering
By burrowing deep into the inner realm,
But most of us will disappear
Into the clouds and beyond
Our lifeless bodies drifting through space
Like a blizzard of snowflakes
Coming finally to sparkle like falling stars
