The Stabbing

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“He was a difficult birth but his death, the nature of it kills me each day, over and over”
Anon
Over possessed houses where chairs lay in ghost sheets
a platoon of geese flew in a broken V
there is beauty in the Badlands,
there is an outline of John
stab-red and rain pink.
Over council-grey favela’s a helicopter looks for three boys
they are found in the glue woods hiding in infa-reds.
There is an outline of John’s murderers
all of them are zombies and zombies
do not run they are dead and alive.
Back to John, last night he watched night make the reservoir grey –
a man made this he thought, but not the sun, not the bloody sky.
March 3, 2019 at 11:21 am
Reblogged this on reubenwoolley.
March 3, 2019 at 2:02 pm
‘a platoon of geese flew in a broken V’ makes me think that one of the gaggle is missing, Antony.
March 3, 2019 at 2:13 pm
Gaggle is a great word.
March 3, 2019 at 2:57 pm
Yes. I prefer your classification to the standard nomenclature.