it is over
obscured by the hidden dialogue
of premeditated change.
by the grace of god almighty
neatly pressed with the seven mouths of snow
whiter than a miracle
not pale by age nor the confines of a cell.
hell has served it\'s purpose.
heaven ploughs calamity
with the seeds of a singing flatbread
red-eyed it\'s skin of the dead that walk within.
from hand to nose
the goddess Bastet
mummified and buried
with her walking-stick and a good luck charm
carved from a lovers tree.
her mother earth
her father chained to the eyelids of the sun.
somewhere between the night-owls market stalls
falls the truth
the dragging tails of the talisman
of a golden-green through the circles of a crop
will stop at nothing
purring like a cheshire cat
with a cigarette and a trilby hat
sucking straw from a quails egg as it sleeps.
there are no peeping-toms to witness such regime
only white-blood cells of mercury and salt
a hunger hard to shake.
by who\'s own hands
to accomodate this prehistoric sham?
I have smoked my ham one hundred times before
but still it tastes of fox-fur with a nose that cannot twitch.