dead flowers past their summer bloom
entwine the cemetary gate,
clinging grim
like a dying man's hands
that pray, yet prayed too late

drunk & naked in a graveyard
cold skin pale cordite grey
cheek against the friendly stone
hurling like a gargoyle spewing rain
on the wettest Autumn day

let me die, Oh, let me die,
I pray, I pray, I pray,
show me to the hollow ground
where all will finally lay

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the Dust, the Dust

I remember the men,
their faces blackened with filthy coal
layers of carbon dust on skin,
slowly lining their lungs thick.
I think of them in the twilight,
two miles underground
hewing with axe and pick,
shirtless bodies glistening with sweat like morning dew
I see them coming home,
tired of the black
eyes like pissholes in the snow
unaccustomed to the light
and then,
and then their golden...

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