In Delightful Surrounds

in delightful surrounds

how absurd a want

for quantum leap.

with eyes of Owl in haunted barn

soon dies the thrill of all of this.

this enlightened stuff.

sun on headstone

son of dancing rat.

away with the Sunday magician.

no need here for his colourful charm.

steal away from this orchard of mangled apples

with their crab-like feet and most undistinguished verse.

walk instead with the intent of wanting something more.

something more profound than just the slighted grimace;

with Death we sing

with the chorus of a morning Hummingbird

as it hangs with the plight of a thousand worthless chimes.

Death is King.

Death is the consumption of all that cannot be traced.

Death is for,

our Father who brought us all things beautiful and bright;

the beauty of dance

the beauty of the ballerina with crippled legs.

the bright coloured column.

this bright coloured column

where dangles the wrath of all who dared to stay;

in these delightful surrounds

still I suffer for want for something more

than to crawl beneath the stench of rotted fruit

into the barrel of absinthe alcohol.

these beautiful surrounds

where flows from the casket

a warm light ale

where a cheer is raised

for who chose not to oppose

this garden where the scarlet pimple

lives

but never grows: