The future is already gone

Been buried behind the bin bag
dressed tomorrows slaughter
manufactured olive ugly skins
to hide from
like a face behind the veil
is it protection from sexual savagery
or impending illegal immigrant inspections

uncover photogenic material he hid
beyond convention yet
revealed intent with a stream
of statements leaving behind unanswered
questions, floating in the wind behind
the taste of morning unable to cleanse
reputation before the end and after
it becomes distasteful – it saddens me
that the sensation only damages the ones that matter

the ones that are so alive and kicking
against pricks so sharp they pierce
progress stops as blood runs down the drain
life is so short and then its over

climb the tree and if you fall
at least it is from a height
and not just a casual storm

they parked their cars over gravestones
lying to their friends
and tried to fit in their grief
before becoming intoxicated
deserving all their top shelf mystery

attached to the ground with cast iron chains
speaking in public for the first time
feeling out a place

to exist under trees waving gracefully
that wind that carps away at
until no reason is left
to drag our sorry arses out
of this glorified spider hole