Poem – Moth’s Holiday

Vicious and Powerful Poem

I Hope to Put This to Music and Perform it in a Squat

 

Moth’s Holiday

A doors bangs in the night by way of hinges on frame

Oiled

Who is that in the parlour?

We can but jut out callously by the fire place

With cut knobs.

Now dashed by the rain and wind

We think about the spider that eats our earth

As we crease our way sobbing to

Circuses lit up like frothing pies

The moth contemplates not.

He is on holiday,

In the barn where we fucked a dog

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