The stained flats of life hit and razed
To a darkened asylum,
Vanishing is the life-work behind
Footsteps quicken into a deepening hole;
Hymned is God’s shrivelling flock.
The last rights are divvied out in the Christbread,
Spitting wine and holy water;
One must walk through the maze of sermons,
The lashing minister’s envious tongue,
And the holy book drivelled down to one burning bush;
Heaven falls with your fall and the cracked
Church bell beats the left air.
Flicked from a carbolic life in a bed of sores,
The scudding base of a familiar
Flick of the finger and your eyes are
Death enters silently with a counting clock
Lurching- strikes with a time-bomb,
You are deaf in the rafters of your eardrums;
A scythe marches you to a parcel of stone,
Your dead heart is forced into the agony
Of a grave, it has another mouth to feed
(The old mud-hatch closes like bullied iron).