PURITY

Coals burn, relentlessly, in our hands; encouraging newborn skin to emerge at such an arrogant price
The Devil knocks at the back door, loudly – a millstone around his scrawny neck
He roots through our garbage and cast-off decisions
Hanging the consequences on diseased trees in forgotten orchards
Vine-like nooses dangle; the promise of wine long gone; its fruit is withered and dried
It is now fit to be sold in bulky, larvae-ridden baskets
on tropical-shirted market stalls in the most intense temperatures

Shed the layers of petrified skin in remembrance of those who walk a different path to your own
An unstable culture seeking liberation?
The ones who surge and push at gates that cannot be closed against the fullness of a crowd
Be basted and baked on stone-flagged pedestals
Let the flies swarm, distracted, in soul-fed honey jars, a mile to the East and four paces North
Row upon row of kneeling saints cover an expanse of contrived grass
It jumps with serpents and arachnid mutants; clawing the fabric of purity itself:


Scuttling across leathered feet, worn and tired from pilgrimage and procedure

Testing their undeniable faith as the dandelion clocks dare to spawn and seed once more

No scar remains where the fountain of youth once stood
Yet the whore sits cross-legged (for once) for a cleansing that never comes
She is a concept, a vulgar ideal; uninhibited and erotic, her clientele bleed to please her
Fake breeders lurk within the shadows of her polished intelligence
And un-shockable generation exiles are watched by their guardians from six feet away
They turn their broad backs, ordering moonshine shakes to go

All meet in temples of tried and tested doctrines, where turnstiles check obedience
Entrance is free for sinless rewards

The whore becomes a writer in un-fucked slots of time
Her desk is at the window as she gouges and grabs at the rotten frame for splinters of knowledge
The square panes of glass rattle and shift with antique ghosts and memories that are not hers
Through the other side, the silver-lined cloud casts a drop shadow against a deep blue
High echelons of heaven glitter and beam in rays of torment and impossibility
You can’t have this, but you will alwayswantit

So, dry mouths are fed on salted goods; leaving them needing and yearning
An unbalanced state that puts them next to an unholy God
Remove your shoes; hold out your burned hands
Show your truth to the those who live in the sky and await judgement
All screen wipers are entrenched in dealing with dust these days
The motorway stretches for mile after arid mile now
The sun has set on a post-apocalyptic horizon; all resting places are dry

We are living it now - the end of days;The Endtimes; endstop
Waiting for anAct Of Godto clean up the mess


SRWB 2010