Tumbleweed

 

In a town called Tumbleweed

sound is deadened

so that every conversation

crawls like a gentle breeze

through cotton wool.

 

Beggars are kings,

politicians pariahs,

policemen thieves,

priests parasites.

Suzie is a victim.

 

The streets of Tumbleweed

host sinners, saints and surrogates

sneering into bibles

left to them

by agnostic parents.

 

In Tumbleweed

no one talks

no one listens

no one cares

no one dies.

 

I asked her for a sixpence

and she gave me a look

that said ‘If I had sixpence

I’d give it to you’.

Suzie lies.

 

Eyes are wet with crying,

lips are wet with blood,

we are wet with dreaming

of the wetness of the brood

in the wetness of the storm.

 

The bars of Tumbleweed

serve heavily fermented brew,

matured in ancient casks

of monolithic stone

dusty with the hopelessness of time.

 

Light shines through

a broken window pane

and bounces across

the alleyway

where we lie.

 

Suzie says

‘We’re fucked,

the world’s gone crazy

and we were already there’.

Suzie, Suzie, empathy.

 

Winged things

swoop from roof to roof

and clatter on the tiles,

awakening children

and urgent desires.

 

We bite.

We suck.

We chew.

We fuck.

We live.

 

When night falls

we dance between the graves

and spit on crosses.

Intoning, intoning,

intoning curses

 

There are open graves

to return to

outside the boundaries

of this God forsaken

hell hole.

 

When we leave

we pass the sign

etched deep by knives

in rotting wood.

(You’re) Welcome To Tumbleweed…