Sky is reading my heart and eyes

Thudding, low-slung, slate-wool booms,
shuddering my thin, temple shell-bones -

the crumbling Norse-god
is still in senile residence,

drunk on elemental forces,
mashed up, swallowed raw;

lurching randomly - loudly bumping
around dark, cavernous starry domes;

his resurrected sounds bang, hurt
my overblown pressured eyeballs.

Tree-greens are badly transfigured
into exorcised, crude, colour-spirit;

too lurid without leaf body -
silver palm, white sun-blood;

light fingers - like angel claws -
scratch through malevolent blue;

forces wrestling for the troubled soul
of this wrongly-polished summer day.

The laughing river is choked with mercury;
the stern Presbyterian loch sterilised, black.

Sky is reading my heart and eyes -
translating, replicating, mimicking;

suddenly watering the redundant, wormy
rose with enormous, sluggish silver tears -

that burst out intemperately,
like heavenly blood-letting.