Chinese Swelter

Had an ear against the window last night, 

Can you guess what I heard? 

Can you guess to what degree my mind is now depraved? 

Someone maybe slipped a thing into my stream, 

A few brightly coloured dreams have now begun to draw, 

The course and extent to which my mind flows. 

The wind sang, 

Sweet melodies, 

Unlike the shrieks, 

And valley whorls, 

Of my Ireland. 

The air was tangy, 

A sticky orange mud, 

Clung all along the walls, 

Of this vast chamber, 

The space concatenated, 

As if by circus mirrors, 

Those dimensions weren’t quite right.

Too many people, 

And the streams much too large, 

The conversations, 

Less like talk than shouts, 

But most of all,

The strangest breeze, 

The strongest smell, 

Was the anger, 

It bubbled underneath everything, 

Making all the world shake.

The endless expanses, 

The rugged mountains, 

Turned dangerous, 

While I watched, 

Stood bolt upright, 

Awaiting the chance to roar.

This land spotted by a beard, 

Of pubescent little arrows, 

Of angry little volcanoes, 

Only hoping for a chance, 

To erupt with finality, many fatalities. 


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