I like to smell the autumnal air when winter threatens violence.
When lace has given way to beards
Thrown like gossamer to veil decay.
With whispery willowherb on the verge of conversation
Cut short by broom splitting like gunshot across fields,
Perpetuating the silence while the garden exhales.
And vetch stretches to an upward gasp while crocosmia licks at the air
In a flamenco of flames beneath the brooding maples-
Those arborous beacons calling in the night.
As the sun follows the horizon,
Up lighting leaves into their seminal colours,
Before a sanguine moon makes alto cumulous waves that break across the sky,
After stampeding winds leave summer in its wake
And the robin ripens its breast amongst the apples.
Soon we’ll be shot through a tube in vessels
Like blood through an artery
Spurting out onto the platform in a froth.
Accelerated particles bumping into one another
Through the labyrinthine abdomen of the city.
A thronging ache spangling for exits
Passing vitreous enamel posters,
With mercurial escalators haemorrhaging bodies,
Surfacing like ants from mounds squinting into the light
Before our flight to bees busying ourselves in skyward hives.
These moving images beguile me,
Mesmerise, hypnotise me
Into believing in another world
Where I don’t exist.
Merely an observer
Feeling emotion surging with sound,
Build inside me like a cathedral-
All space reverberating with fulfilment.
Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including Jellyfish Whispers, Poetry Pacific, Shot Glass Journal, Turbulence, The Autumn Sound Review, Torrid Literature Journal and Crack the Spine, amongst others.