We walk dead
we look dead -
to sequined eyes
and spinning circus brains
we are silver chains on doom.
We talk dead
we smoke dead -
young flowers wilt
at our whims,
we brazen killers
pureed in candy sauce.
We eat dead
we play dead -
simmering silence
at the news of the day,
cold to events
and cherry red love.
We happy dead
we happy dead
we happy
we...
@Steven Francis poems 2009
Taken from 'The Angina Engine'
Saturday, 17 October 2009
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