I found this during my reworking spree – it may not long survive
God is a shout on the street
heard from around a corner.
Always around a corner.
Or behind a beach rock
heard on the wave slaps
And in gulls’ cries.
On the breeze I snatch at the keening
The yelping of infant discards
untimely ript before the hare sets in motion.
The pained bleats as they are extracted
rendered to the cartilage – no bones yet formed.
The lamb like fortunates breaching the gate
Skipping into the wider field.
Will taste a certain destiny – a fate dictated, not selected
Eyes, and limbs, and tongues, and hope dissolving
As, over time, the gutter hearts of others,
slice away slice after slice after slice.
And the hiss of innocents
Young and old, and in between,
sizzling in obscene brickery.
Their incense chorus swelling
Ascending beyond this realm
And in that hurricane I catch the keening.