Now and in the hour of our dead

We’ve got plenty of time to wonder,

she nearly lost her mind,

longing for more

of the same brand controlled certainties.
The old days are screaming
to the fast lane,
modernism’s and pale blue productivity,
the vampire too anxious to be poor,
the fruits are whispering.
In the dark ground
the seeds are pounding to the walls,
the sun is overwhelming
inside the chilly winds of the east.

The silence is complete

The big wheels are going

around and around.