ISSUE 2 · SPRING 2009
The DNA of Carbon P. A. LEVY
The history of grass, as churned over into putrid mud, sets the whistling scythes to work through freshly ploughed fields. Crushing the wildness out of flowers birdsong lonesome blues fades to silence.
Howitzer messengers, harbingers of dark yesterdays; soundbite words from wisdoms, rarefied beads of dazzling deceptions. Play follow the leader. Hypnotic. Catatonic. Trance don’t dance when you dance in straight lines. Let’s be beetles; yeah yeah yeah, let’s be worms. Compostable truth; let’s do the squirm, take your partners for the country lust. Return to sender via last post, they’re autumnally challenged at half mast and will silently eventually rot away.
Amen. |
P. A.Levy lives in the rural county of Suffolk and is learning the lost arts of hedge mumbling and clod watching. He is also a member of the Clueless Collective and has been in many publications.