by Rick Mullin
Here we have the world turned on its head.
It comes: The Zero Hour Inauguration.
Skies grow orange and the trees glow red.
It brings to mind the burial of the dead,
but for the living, an incarceration. Here we have the world turned on its head!
The flower girl imparts a sense of dread, the chessmen might despair of compensation.
Skies grow orange and the trees glow red,
we can’t remember what the thunder said and heavy metal rallies in formation.
Here we have the world turned on its head!
The Angels’ sermon: Prismic Light instead
of Fire. Bagpipes drone in affirmation,
skies grow orange and the trees glow red,
the sentence fragments drop like molten lead
into the auric ghost holes of a nation where we have the world turned on its head.
The sky grows orange and the trees glow red.
Rick Mullin's new poetry collection is Stignatz & the User of Vicenza.
Here we have the world turned on its head.
It comes: The Zero Hour Inauguration.
Skies grow orange and the trees glow red.
It brings to mind the burial of the dead,
but for the living, an incarceration. Here we have the world turned on its head!
The flower girl imparts a sense of dread, the chessmen might despair of compensation.
Skies grow orange and the trees glow red,
we can’t remember what the thunder said and heavy metal rallies in formation.
Here we have the world turned on its head!
The Angels’ sermon: Prismic Light instead
of Fire. Bagpipes drone in affirmation,
skies grow orange and the trees glow red,
the sentence fragments drop like molten lead
into the auric ghost holes of a nation where we have the world turned on its head.
The sky grows orange and the trees glow red.
Rick Mullin's new poetry collection is Stignatz & the User of Vicenza.
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