(After William Golding's dreams of hanging)
Downbeat, tempo down
Crunching shards
Fake frown
Under false light
Of magnolia shawls
How it dawdles and palls
Tempus Fugit
From fugitive strands
Badly lit
Ropes of pearl beads
Bands Noosing
Blue veins of a neck, a wrist
And a mouth cries 'shibboleth,
I'll break the world with my fist'
Your skin became my pale cloak
Mouth the noosed rope
On which I dangle
Ankles kicking south
And she's still the same
In a different place
With a different name
The waking moment crumbles
And I am the dust
Slipping the weave of the rope
Ankles kicking south