Bay mare breeder, electric ether, head crazed
by on goings, sore to touch, touchily.
Tetchy little englander brought down to size
Colour, gender of choice, within boundless
Law: The Right of Light.
Torches rally, burn the beast, cauterize the earth.
Escalation, destination desolation:
regard slow time; report the truth; received
communication distorts, parts words apart.
Darwin’s social agents popped in for a peep,
Pick up old confetti, soaping soft,
the right boys to do a boy’s job. Inside
a cringe (a swallowed outburst still emits gas)
and a barbed stiletto of rebuke.
They and I are hamstrung by pace, them too
much, me too little. Who is piggy in the middle?
The I of the storm The individual…
The news is abroad, I wish it well on
its journey to ignorance, words are so cheap
They are Free