unsigning
we have no agreement
with death . the terms
are unequal
. the gods
moved from their mountains
& their kids’re riding
shotgun on the subway
, painting names
on walls , desperate codes
in cold times
when ravens walk
in every street , just listen
to them talk . no breeze
from the west , the ocean dried
& all its monsters rotted . ain’t no return
ticket to primordial slime
. just one way out
. paint
that fuckin’ wall
colours of rage
we don’t go easy, dying of consumption , dying
of fear . bring it on
motherfucker
Reuben Woolley, born in Chesterfield, now living and working in Zaragoza, Spain. Poems published in Domestic Cherry and forthcoming in Tears in the Fence and in the online magazines, Ink Sweat & Tears, Bone Orchard Poetry, Nutshells and Nuggets and The Screech Owl. His first collection, the king is dead, was published in July 2014 by Oneiros Books.
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I hear “Consumer”; I think, “Zombie.” This is not what we (thought we) signed up for.
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