Waiting For The Cloud
The river was rainbow stew, the fishes choked and cursed. The thirsty
dogs spat fire, rolled in glue, then they burst. The fur balls flying,
trees were dying--dandelions were crippled, bald . . . We saw it all in
colour--now we're waiting for the cloud.
A mother forcefed baby milk which ticked and bubbled black. She sank it
back with plastic pills although it stank . . . seemed thankful. Rolled up
in her sack, she won't be back, she won't grow old . . . We saw it all in
colour--now we're waiting for the cloud.
And crocodiles were sprouting wings. Dead sheep filled the fields. The
children rode on locusts ad threw slings at anything that could be killed and
eaten raw. No weeping sore, no claws, no balls . . . We saw it all in
colour, now we're waiting for the cloud.
We're told it could be 15 days, we're busy digging holes . . . The deep ones
for the pure, selected--shallow ones for old and sick, the derelicts, the
poor, the junkies, criminals, the whores. There's more, there's red and
yellow, black and blue. There's me, there's you. (Waiting for the cloud.)