the child is not a child

i'm rambling now
a cluster of pill bottles
on the bedside table
like a tunnel to shangri-la
the funeral pyre of the poor

now fades the thunder 
time now for the bits in between
locusts eat the wheat
there is an early frost
strong winds, abnormal currents

the dull toll of an iron bell
keening, grieving for ourselves
while the red sunlight settled in
a morose and sullen cast
which is to last one thousand years

i belong. belong. long to be.
but another part of me
a quiet and buried part
is trying to break free
in the sun of a hot september

#dadaist #poetry