Ultraviolent Deluge

[Animal Riots Activist]

Ultraviolent Deluge (working title)

The surgeon sun sits
where sky is a broken femur,
where mountains are a ribcage.
Its all very neat
  me feeling in tension
its all very clever     and I am
                a toy theory.

If I could control these gravitas,
the souls corona would be
re-appropriated and all other
   lighthouses would be      outlawed.

I literally
     cannot   read      
another
 bite.         Anachronistic     enough?
           Wholesome   enough?
     Brackish   enough?

Come on little gamma ray,
whistle   the sound of
   trees falling   in the sand
      of a poorly lit nocturne;

its all very pretty
if there’s noon there to
hear it.     Yellow-grey
on the     navy’s blues,
        lying    supine      on
transparent cellophane
bed frames, so that the snow
       speaks of sunburns.

This is cancer at it’s finest,
a cyst in the eye of a sinner,
cold shiners up and over
the inner walls of the spinal
column in today’s newspaper
at the end of the world.

It’s too hot out.