When Tomorrow Crept Like Ants Towards The Sword

when the sky burned green

the naked trees grew fast

as fast as the eye would ever want to see

pilgrims on pillaged steps

with deeds to the concrete child

walking on stilts through pickled spit

when tomorrow crept like ants towards the sword;

by chance came a fresher wind

four sticks dueling motive

minds eye lost on swollen moors.

be bound or be blessed

the obsessions of the whitest want

where is she now?

this lady of the fracking

this lady of the farm;

when the castles bled dry

rain became less of a friend

passion fruit turned and split the vine

the demented mood now mellow

mellow as the pregnant Stork

carrying the concrete child

singing with gherkin tongue in brine.

caught at sea; frozen in the now

this lady of mutton

this lady of the swarm

when tomorrow crept like ants towards the sword;