Third Watch (Rev) Poem by Tailor Bell

Had all things become
Covered in this sticky red mud
Dark gruel clinging to every axle
Hanging from bowclips and cartboards and saddlestraps
Pig world from sun up to sun down
Wheels entrenched so deep that turning
Meant turning the entire world about the sun
Rather than catching one iota of sensible motion
As each insatiable hatred reduced to flat exasperation
Becomes this mad icing on life, this maniacal quagmire
How would a race proceed
Or king negotiate these great objectionable quandries
Through this vile taunt of repugnant meringue
Yieldless, endless mixture of pandemonium
Feeding on morning humidity, clarified through daily evaporation
Siphoning off final ounces of precious energy
What reasonlessness, to stand knee deep in this torment
Anticipating, wishing for escape, without waiting
To dredge the channel open, invoke the bench and branch
Ignite lower heaven over these few slackened robes
Asking to receive the rainshower promised, whether true or false,
But let it fall here, now, to replace this stone
While squeeling, bleating, braying cacophonies
Pile up under weepy half-hearted clouds
The bitterness of pungent bread suffocated in clods of base loam earth
Longing for light, jagged broken light
And the sound, that sharp clack
Of truth, such truth,
Against stained wood