Wednesday, 16 November 2011


Natural three
in those days spent,
red lights.
It's not too late to cross them off your list.

I saw it in your pocket.
I saw you place it there
under supervision
in wed-locked circumstance,
across the stoney floor
we fall.

Through smoke and dim lit forests
we grow and tackle to the ground,
our bodies, clothes
are smeared in blood and grit.
To be the act of violence
and dance with its ideas.

By Robert William Atherton

No comments:

Post a Comment