Collective Poem: August 31st

In the silt of thought a diadem of bone-stars and water,

The fields of the sunshine, filtering coins, to feed the children of the gods-

Gods are not fond of asking for naive songs to be sung in their presence, at least not for pleasure

That arches over the streets and bursts into a face of storms and broken ice, into a hell of burning flowers.

Flowers that quiver as the elastic fetishes submerge in the quagmire of rice pudding, pleasing porcupines who stab at the wilting buds of mushrooms leaving

Eternity on your fingertips shifting around looking for Specials

Wielding their black coshes in the trench-dark afternoon

Of stolen wine, drunken tangos and burning sun, afternoon of blood of forgotten lives,

Lives melted into the soil of the memory, tinted with blood, smeared with gold, sealed with Belladonna—–forever.

By Anna Cetti, Stuart Inman, Philip Kane and Jane Sparkes.

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~ by euphorbia on September 2, 2007.

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