untitled (burning hard and fast)

burning hard and fast

charcoaled remains

purposely skewered

upon the cross

through my entrails

so all may see the

blood delivered

 

I hang

on the point

musing the world

which passes beneath me

as my life

drops cold and red

into a draining sea

 

the tide rolls out

decayed dreams dead

the cross upon the hill

has fallen (or perhaps never there?)

my life carried away

leaving just my mind

to sift the sand.

 

– Chris George 

1981/82 

 

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