Sunday, 27 July 2008

Midnight. A poem by Providence Blake

Midnight. The hour with a name. 12 o'clock, the night-bitch like rare eagle who swings down and round on us all like a selfish hunter owl who's yet to be fed.

She waits at the top of the clock face, ruling over all other hours, dictating the end of one day and giving birth open legged, shitting out the next. The time Queen in effortless labour.

The watcher at the edge of the day and the ruler of time.

Time the cunt who kills more people than Aids cancer and diabetes.

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