Sean Borodale
23RD JULY: NOISE & WASTE
23RD JULY: NOISE & WASTE
Today the hive
is trying out its harmonics,
a weepy low fugue I think to burning sun.
The loss of flowers is overwhelming:
dry sheaths and packets
stapled onto brown skulls.
The nagging air swings gibbets of drought.
Some clumps of the world are barred,
The dump stinks in flowerbeds, weedbeds,
and the river's clogged two miles of hemlock rots.
Mangled carapaces fall out of air
skinny in their little traps of make-up.
A chimera of scrap parts.
Grass-blade emerald twisted.
Glitter paste of bumps & grazes.
The air's ears are traumatised,
and on the flames of the hour
just a whiff of decline,
just a whiff more.
The white dry heat jangles;
it's like a kiln is shaking at the corners.
Tomorrow,
must search the dawn's damp ash
for broken mirrors.