Saturday, June 20, 2020

Swan Song V: Water the Driftwood Flowers

Alex Pepperhill
Creative Commons License

Let's begin again: all society 
sound now. Throes of music are upon us;
we must resist, we must desist. We must
do nothing, we do things in piety.
Only now this came about: deity
of a plague, we must hear. You too are us.
We are all the same. We are viral lust.
We will love and mate, or we will kill three.
How now do you propose to indict us
with greater powers over life and death?
If you offer us our own fate, how could 
we refuse? We pull our hooded capes up
over our bowed heads. Now our very breath
condemns us, as partners in crime (beachwood).