The Week Yelled Hell

It started with a crash of an aeroplane into the market
the flying wheels and shards of steel floating in slowed time
the enormity of this moment how it changed the lives of millions
could not be expected or planned around it came with a crashing
and explosive round of distortions and reasons for morbidity

the wheel was taken from the cart, shown to the horse
and then dragged through the mud
the mud stuck and changed it from being a wheel
and turned it into a lump of shit

next came the dance of the deadly daggers
as they crossed the sound wrenched normality from the air
the darkness fell and lurid eyes peer into you
the pale fingers of anonymity clasp hard
and the life finds no path

the week yelled hell
and the thumb pulsed after that hammer fell
the sky went dark
and evil fell on the streets below
it never felt so black
as the threat of boot jack knife shirts and shards
carved their pelts with broken marks
they say things that should never be said
the broken hearts of first lovers collected by the dead

to be held captive between electrodes owned by the government
and sold to the men who laugh about how
they get most of it for themselves
and the fat wives they despise

and then the ground started to move
back and right left and down
it was impossible to dance
it was hard for that necessary eye
to recognise the horizon, to measure the lift
of the arm or the lilt of the thigh

it were not as dark as all that
the way that the land was sold to the greediest pants
as the ants scuttled about gathering the excrement
as rewards for what they deserved

this week they were out
the fools at the front of the queue
trampled in the panic
them that done the killing were excluded
and executed
while the fools were replaced and stored
like the artifacts that they was

and the king
cares not

they
sing

we cry
as the artists
die