an era of larrikins

‘tis the era
of the larrikins;
justice hides in
the underground
with a greasy coat
and a name-tag
saying ‘blasphemy’
and a telephone
number so you
can report him
right back to
the nearest
God with a
growing capital
‘g’, or to Satan
with that unsettling,
maniacal, almost
crazy, cheshire
grin, but sane
enough to claim
to be strolling
down the side walk
when the rain
still shines
a little too bright
on the pavement
under the street light
with a leash
in one hand
taking altruism
for a walk,
the other, deep in
the pocket of
his phantom cloak
hiding ratty deceit;
i killed a person
the other day,
as she strolled
down by
the fey lamp,
i killed my pretty
lover in a dream,
all in a day’s
dose of eccentric
ecstasy; we all
know eclipse
always wins;
an era of
aesthetic larrikins;
we all know
death is
a side effect
of life.

T. E. Pyrus


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