fertile mother of madness and in the dead city

fertile mother of madness

the fertile mother of madness
tears another fetus from her barbwire
womb and throws it at sumptuous
walls where asylums construct

themselves from words and constriction
in the homeless throat. meaningless the seed is
and love was a speck of spittle on a flaccid gum;
she throws a fetus once and worlds are undone

behind walls and words, histories melting
their psychogenesis like ice in the sun

© 2011 David McLean

in the dead city

in the dead city i left time
and my dusty eyes,
it seemed to be
another century

and we were corpses
walking, seen from now
where eyes are
their self-evident always,

evident to every selfish
self, because here is today
and all its ageless eternity,
because childhood is immortal

where dreams are easily forgotten
and thrown away in this trashcan
memory, confabulating better
facts, making faces that never

changed once; wherever the thin skin
went, and whoever becomes dust
enough, a nothing to eternally
love

© 2011 David McLean