Auckland Poetry

There is nobody left there

a throng gathered waiting

The people you came to kill

had vanished into thin air

they came and they called on their plastic box device

and flames we took for games fried brains and let us leave

waiting for them ask for more expired days
important truncated oats and wheat chaff to the feedthe quiet afternoon

the endless glory of minutes

Here, at the Ruinscape - we wonder at the minds that

brought us this hiddious expanse warped thoughts

executed in explosive charged seconds shades were sent

over the eyes made of silver cement

the pain left behind by thieves

and

the wooden bench

They all came to collect their debts

one by one

they left

in a queue

bent

and

harried

by death

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