Receding Hairlines

LED mountains mark our demise,
jagged and angry lines in the paper,
crashing and tumbling.
What's it all worth?

The face of a leader,
who failed as a family-man
on a flimsy note.

Coins all a-jangle.
Dripping from his chin,
the remains of a budget-cut feast.
Families split like pistachio nuts between razor sharp teeth

The power-suit pantomime, dancing through the traffic.
A parade, a marching band,
a power out.

Heavy shoulders sag on the factory line
deflated then discarded,
melted clocks and cardboard sandwiches
augment the whirring clicks of mechanic despair.

Snow-coated krónur,
afloat in the Alafoss,
fed to the eels.

Bones creak and dice rattle.
You crawl out of your paper cup.
A languid lullaby...
A ripped verse out of Ezekiel and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

One, two, three tears caught in your sleeve.
The tears that street-life drew from you
A little piece of Jesus to save you.