... Rosy specs on tomorrow, I PROMISE!! :)) I had intended to work this into 26 couplets, to represent the pairs of chromosomes in a "normal" human being. But.. naaaaaaah. For some strange reason, it reminds me of one of me fav Nick Cage films: ConAir. D'ya know it? LOL K xx

FOR HIM WHO RAILS AT BEAUTY


I curse the sun making its pale apology, birthing this sonovabitch day; its watery face sullen as it finds me beside a grave, asking questions of bleached bones. I’ve left my baby sick at home, sweating in fevered sleep. I deny her her medicine – better she be unconscious now.

No birds. The air is stifled, the streets devoid of rush-hour traffic. Only the postman goes about his business, still hoping to deliver some good news – and the unflinching businessman, his white knuckles grasping tight the handle of his briefcase.

The hard-working shopkeeper boards up his windows, barricades his door. The farmer lies naked and drunk in the barn, draped among his cattle. Hospitals empty.

There are no morning papers. The presses have become extinct, their ink run dry. Nothing left to say. The trees are spared, but their thoughts are mute. Not so much as a leaf whispers.

Only the pimps and prostitutes work overtime. Women in labour cross their legs and bite the hands of those who would relieve them. They would rather split their guts than give life to this. The terminally sick are partying, their moon-faces gurgle like drowning fish.

Air traffic is suspended, the seas stilled. Rail and roads reabsorb their human constipation. Hopeless pods, pools and cells of people chew the fat, mortally congealed, like cold blood.

Quiet is already here: just heavy breathing in corners, gentle sobbing of lost children and smothered tears of helpless adults, their moans buried in another’s chest or shoulders.

I want to be everywhere and nowhere; part of a crowd and alone; to remember and forget. I want to punch out the lights of that life-long pain-in-the-ass and make love to this perfect unknown stranger.

Now, all time has ceased; the moment is upon us: 11.17 GMT. A day unlike any other. This day…

Just as he said it would, the winds gather above the silent-weeping earth, snuffing the light that’s become grey. The perverse seed, the longed-for hope of him who rails at beauty, births its ugly fruit, this heinous global death.

The sky is falling and the godless one dies grinning, marvelling at the wonder of his most creative destruction. His immortality assured.