The calls from a lunatic God


The calls from a lunatic God Scream from the poets page This - his mackerel brain- In blistering blasts Resonates out a switched refrain But leaves - in residue- The flip flap from the leaf - a hiss- That's newly green In this evolving spring.

And amid this sacred forest Baccus bellows; He bids for us to slowly suckle From his plump wealthy Ready breast, So let us devour without discretion Upon this his beautiful creation; For in this sharp shape twisting wind, We are but cogs in shaft's That rise upon shifts that sing So we hope to remove these sharp toothed rats That writhe in our heads. (c) adh 2017


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I              2017© Andrew David Hunt Wix