Stereophonic Apocalypse

I had a dream last night
that Kelly Jones and the band
were the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
riding over the hill on giant motorbikes
Have a Nice Day blaring from the exhausts

they stopped and signed my cd’s
as dark clouds roiled in the distance
everything was smiles
until I realised the end of the world was nigh
and they had gone

and I never got the chance to tell them
about my great unpublished novel
how Richie, Pete, Dave and Stu
all got killed in a car crash on a Welsh hill
Local Boy in the Photograph playing

as their wheels stopped turning
only the lovely Stace crawled from the wreckage
but I won’t tell you the rest of her story
you’ll have to find me a publisher quick
before the end of the world starts dawning

and I am left holding a stack of signed cd’s
watching the dark clouds come rolling towards me
on top of a Welsh hill where Neolithic men
left standing stones for me to hide behind
and write my god awful poetry

show me something red

I am driving  through a white van landscape that feels

The white corpuscle lines of dot-com deliveries
Traffic jamming
Under passing

Summer storms gutter flooding the soft verges
Washed out
Flat tire broke
Ego deflating
The uneasy driver

We are all paying for life’s highway maintenance
In vertical rain shards
In roundabout ways
In transit
In cold blood

Quick, show me something red like a heartbeat
A Ferrari sunset
Monroe’s lips
Albino eyes
Mushroom clouds

Climbing the hill now in a snaking switchback line
Losing speed