Saturday, 13 October 2018

Tick Tock

tick… tock…

the geological clock
is a binful of decaying atoms no-one pays heed to all that rock
and rubble all that oceanic telling precisely all we have to do
with a time bomb wired and primed bound and strapped to the world


hellos goodbyes
how time flies
no more lies!
come on! we were the ones (the eons) whose half-open eyes
witnessed the end of history when concrete came and the jungle
and the wild tiger made lion-hearted prey for our predator metal
our digging in the dirt as we dug for gold for gem and stone
for thick black oil to flame and grease the open palms of tomorrow

         for us          all for us    but not for all of us

tick tock tick

time is at hand
the final grains of sand
silt an empty hinterland 

tock tick

eleven years more till our greed its trickling water-torture knocks at our skulls
in one last sign of madness at our delusion of competence we are just plain nuts
or bolts the stable door unhinged in the way that being human is an illness
a state of mind broken thinking otherwise somewhere truth lies dead and buried
the truth and nothing but the truth so help me god so help us oh god because
beside truth’s corpse every godhead every single one is another rotting stiff as are all
those feeble things of flesh of which we knew but cared so little and now too late


tick tock


© Brian Hill

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Brian Hill. 50 years a poet. One-time designer and film-maker; long ago, the rhyme-slinger, cartoon cowboy, and planetarium poet; now feverishly stringing words together in the hope of making sense.
Brian blogs as Scumdadio (don’t ask).