Crossed Keys

Cigarette burns

on my lungs

shriveled liver

my pallet is messy

with fermented fruit

back in that place that had no culture

a carrion town, eating life, a vulture

Built around a past-facing sepulchure

Stuck in itself, kneeling before intertia

But this is a new future

I rectify my youth

Devils were slated by time

Same place, different space

We know the symptoms of our illnesses

our town bearing bad fruit

Tenements became testaments

Burning bushes seem quaint

The voices strained

Awareness Rising High

1st class Party Poopers

The traces of the tracks through Thatcher-town

Political discourse is not hopeless

We’re not helpless

Come together and beat all

the Nazis, Tories,

Nasty, selfish fuckers

Help each other

Hope again

Burn bright with luminescence

Write our testaments

Grow new possibilities

and brew our own medicine

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