twenty-two

The Hunter That Shot At The Stars

I was asleep
Then I woke up and saw the backwards counter
Numbering the hours of a mans life
And after a while
I realised it was someone I'd heard of


Such a chronicle
On the small screen. Hidden away
A man shot at boxes and set them on fire
To make up for the world that he couldn't
No matter what he wrote and said

I saw the long roads between places
The boredom of these spaces needed to be dealt with
Especially the desert, the blank blank desert
Needed to be planted with the most colourful flowers
And populated by fantastic beasts

And then, when he went to where the colour really lived
He wanted to escape from it
Neon pink followed blood red, mixed in a cocktail
Of white and green and brown and amber glow
But after the flames.. there was only black