In The Fields The Bodies Burning.

The flickering flames drowned over the screaming of some names as I confronted the kid who was building that huge fucking pyre in the graveyard in stoke
I smelt a grim stench recognisable as death
we sat down against the stone, shared a can or two of worms, spilt some cider on our clothes whilst we watched the orange glow slowly engulf their bones
he said he’d heard about those political scandals, read the papers knew his angles decided side with all the vandals against the digging at the heart by those above
in one hand his knuckles white as tight he gripped some gasoline,
but put it down when he had to drag more bodies to the heap,
mps, celebrities – he didn’t differentiate between
all was equal in that primal light
all was equal beneath soil and starry sky
at home in silence decided to solve matters without debate
scythe and weigh all the evils that these money men create
the panama papers, mps expenses, david Cameron fucking a pig
now he tied a lot of knots, ignored a lot of groans, over the cackling of a fire focused instead on his seething, gritted teeth tight form of hope.
determined to make a charcoaled and heaving mass, towering crumbling carbon ash and black –
rolled someones history, someones personality in his fingertips then…*blow*… blew it back
a crooked type of augustus
building an empire from several degrees
a blistering type of justice

the cloven hooves are back again
I hear them clicking on the rooves of all my kin
don’t let them in
don’t let them in

he barely moved or muttered further after that,
kept eyes fixated on that glowing burnt inferno
stoked and poked at any murmurs til they ceased.
that danse mcabre dug no hole in which to shovel that fall of rome, just slowly paced around his creation, cremated
come tomorrows dewy dawn
would set out, pile more flesh in mounds

our progress a slow descent, an ape bipedal made
still flings his shit around afraid
against that end of light afraid
we lurch and shriek in shame

some was me, most was them – lost a youth now a melancholy of older man. Leonard Cohen died and is Trump is president.
All was me, all was you, all was them

the cloven hooves are back again
I hear them clicking on the rooves of all my kin
don’t let them in
don’t let them in