deepundergroundpoetry.com

When Bag Pipes Play

 

Eating at my intestines
like a five kilogram
caustic soda
overdose.
 
The pipes of indigestion
layered thick
in lard  
-smelling putrid
following the swallowing
of an unfinished
history
featured in
a futuristic
sci-fi flick.
 
Fields of barley  
fermenting in the winds  
of gossipy  
unread stories  
rolling credits
before the protagonists meet
-never mind
the unbaked, unground beans
for a morning
Espresso
with dark chocolate  
on the side
and a single rose
(in red)
dying on the tray
 
I see malicious nature
in the killing.
A murder so foul
that  bodies
would never tangle
side-by-side
in the final gasp
or
tomb stones  
joined in the darkness
of the graveyard
burning in the
crematorium.
 
There is nothing
in the make up
of giving
or of the living
worth holding onto  
-in hymns
and bible verses
of a eulogy
spoken
 
Yet never lived.
 
excuse me
while I take ashes and dust out.

 
RevolutionAL
Written by RevolutionAL (Alistair Plint)
Published
Author's Note
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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