Wednesday, 1 April 2020

It's a Graveyard of Walls by John Tustin

it’s a graveyard of walls
it’s an impassable fence of bottles and cans
I cry for the insects
I murder the infants
with the same eyes

I drown in these tears
I swim in these tears
as the world turns
in the wrong direction
like it always has

like the spider in the toilet
struggling against the swirl
of the inevitable

sitting by a loveless window
the drawings of my children like tattoos
on my eyelids
and the wind caresses like the luckless lover

it’s a graveyard of walls
of ears of memories
of souls overdosed on the world
and what it is

my eyes blur as the night folds up
and I face the cold impossible of the bed
that dissipates from Friday night
to the dawn

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