Red Hat

bellows flare smoke, and rumble
the Machinery of alleyways
deep in the gray-blue shadows glow
brickwork lined with ears and eyes
pigs milk and feed their young
and Sows are born, and born
and die

there is a little Green house
by the Sea, beneath a sycamore
and the surf
crashing barnacle’d spray
silence
falls between Gulls
honking beaks bloodied crab shells
littered beach
smells of walnuts and wood stove soot
I could have lived there with those Ghosts
instead the Zoo
gave birth to me

the magalopoli burn their Tallow-heads
and teach their newborn’s
to Mask Fear, hide fragility
with absent eyes glimmering with
the Monoliths of Commercialdom
waiting to be fed
there are no Hunters here
in the Land of The Opportunistic
grinding generations to bonemeal
under
a chemical sky

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

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