Witching Hour

Restless in the wizardly quartz screen glow
Mind teeming with vague notions
Drowned worlds, dead oceans
The sound machine roar covers
Footsteps of the cat
Wordless wailing of lost children
Incriminations of a mind soured and drawn
No stone on my belly the sacred words to anchor
But the booze and junk food 
Seethe and roil
Heave and rumble
Lurch and thrawn

Half dreams of blood and oil
Scramble through long eons ‘til the dawn
Breaks the sky.
Here we sit at the edge of the 
Edge of the dead wheatfield of the world 
This is where the dream ran out 
Where the exiles learned the limits of wishful thinking
Of a better job, new life, new car
Faithful friend’s unfaithful wife
Vanished grandmother’s kitchen
Dancing stilled in the blue glow
Singing hushed, drawing smeared, poems incomprehensible. 
Sound of guns rattling from the school
Pain pills, plastic titties, hopeless screwing
Captured joyless on the screen
Remote control toys watch endlessly from the sky
Rain death upon the wedding.
Bread drenched in poison
Sky smeared with smoke synthetic
Mother’s milk from the machine.

Author: Duncan MacNae

Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees. duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com View all posts by Duncan MacNae