In the July grass we lay down deep
The lighthouse painted white was by our feet
In winter gales the whole place was destroyed
The lighthouse disappeared into the storm

So life seems more uncertain,death awaits
Even what we hope will keep us safe
I shall not walk on cliffs now you are late
Your ashes in the wind gesticulate

We need our myths and narratives so words
Can keep us safe and block out the absurd
And hell is other people,not just me
The noose, the rope, the hangman and the tree

Yet I shall lie again on sun warmed grass
Reliving the psychosis of the Mass

One thought on “Gesticulate

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