Collective Poem: August 31st

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

Water the fields of the sunshine that filters 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.

Pleasures that arches over the streets and bursts into a face of storms and broken ice, into a hell of burning flowers-

Flowes that quiver as the elastic fetishes submerge- in the quagmire of rice pudding-pleasing porcupines who stab the wilting buds of the mushrooms leaving eternity.

Eternity on your fingertips-shifting around-looking for specials-

weilding their black coshes in the trench dark afternoon.

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

Lives that are 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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