The Cull

With a pocket full of coins
A pocket full of loose change
Ringing out
Gently
With a summer’s weight to embrace him
Clouds that creep in from every corner

Within a room filled with dog’s desire
Empty
Opaque coverings over windows
Painted shut
Stained and malignant bed sheets
And a most discourteous host

Summoning the inbred accents of futility
Treading waters sullied with abandoned hopes and naked dreams
Breathing horror into the most recessed corners of this life
And standing up for that which is mine

But there is nothing that belongs to me
Until now
Until this
Until forever

Harboring bleak territorial conventions
In a landscape occupied by mewling followers
Hideous beasts of primitive origin
Badly designed spokesmen for the darkened cause
Irreverent participants in a conspiracy of fear

But we won’t allow it
Not any more
Those days have remained in the past
Remained behind
With pockets full of gravel
With dull reactive moans
And a permanent place in the gutter

These are the tones that ring true
And pave a road for the steady footed to tread
Steady now after a lifetime of disease
Of unrest
Steady now without the accompanying dread
Without the endless degenerate herds
Begging for the cull
And crying out

And falling on deaf ears

Forever

This is the way
Take my hand