The Kings Are Dead Long live the short lived

Cardboard Kings

Blood red sovereign exchange

‘remember that thou art dust’

And.. the brightness above?Well..

The shadows weave doubt,

hope subjugated under a cadaverous sky

I cannot remember my dreams

before hell showed the needle’s escape,

after sleeping rough in the park.,

keeping the blood line alive.

Lines, do your lines,

Double white lines on double yellows

Blind-locked beat-alley poets

damned one-way souls on shady,

shabby, dark little streets.

Our days float blind above cobbles

sleeping partners trading on sacred times.

We are TheCardboard kings!

By night we sink cans of Dutch Gold,

watch Liffey Boardwalk lovers weave

Midsummer’s other dream,

our eyes spaced-out flying saucers

as they tango in moonlit oblivion to ‘us’-

and Mammon’s crack burning ire.

They, seeing only despair,

never know that ,we, each night,

in cutting-edge purgatorial desire,

witness spaceships and vultures,

hope and damnation,

demons and angels,

Circling their god’s magnificent spire.