the momento mori of a drowned world
is untold inside out umbrellas,
a plague of logo-spangled spider bones
webbed with shreds of nylon
gumming up a ruin-of-a-bridge’s pylon
if you thought old Moses was a miracle
baby, just you wait and see—
imagine the biblical intensity of a whole
generation launched in eskies
on the deluge of a great river of denial.
there aren’t enough ex-prime ministers
in the world to put on waders,
balance all our baggage on their heads,
and move us to higher ground—
not in such ruddy conditions as these
( lol )
every fallen limb represents an incident
report, an informational event
that sets processes branching up towers
like acute pain to the dead letter
brain. the storm’s allusive rage in tatters
the way a modern day nightmare feels
in the dark for an open hatch
through which slurries of adult wisdom
can be shit-shovelled back in time
to re-landscape backyards of childhood
dreams with scary monster memes.
Image: Blue cascades / flickr
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