Wednesday, January 01, 2020

Crow's feather

  A recreation of one part of the Children of the Midnight Fire street theater performance in London and Europe in 1991.

 

  I find myself falling into
 A state of deep despair
 I don’t know what’s going on
 I’m bummed, yeah, bummed
 Hammered into the ground
 Into the mud of
 Misery and desolation

 Is this all there is
 Is this what we fear
 This deep awareness after sleep
 This nothingness of the flesh
 This flash of fire
 Before the ashes

 The crow’s feather is moving
 Like a trickle, like a flow
 Torrential rain on a bonfire
 Loud squeaks at a funeral
 Slowly fading to nothing

 The vicar burps
 The mayor farts
 And everyone works hard
 To hold on to those serious masks
 And stifle a yawn

 The skull levitates in the air
 Lit by an unseen flame
 A stench of thick smoke
 In everyone’s nostrils

 Is this what we fear
 The stench entering
 Giant nostrils
 The ramble of an unruly stomach
 The brief absence of flesh
 In the bright summer twilight

 Amos Keppler 1991 and 2019-09-19

  Other parts of the performance can be found in my novels Dreams Belong to the Night and Thunder Road - Ice and Fire

No comments: