Concrete Trappings Poem by Graham Leese

This wickers’ stacks
Of excuses, vast empires
Of bracken ready to burn
Beneath an unhealthy visage.

A doll of dishonest proportions;
Were fire to burn such oily skin
Were fire to burn such disfigurement
Were fire to burn you could scavenge
Something. Limbs idle

Meat in worn out bars,
Feet hard, weathered;
Nails clogged with sediment
And scratched out sweat.

Flaccid and cowering,
An empty sacrifice to
Self cantered hypocrites
And full plates; an empty
Promise to the sun.