All Works · Poetry


Time: Sometime
Place: Nowhere    

A relic of truth.    

Blood waters the crop,
Fertile red soil,
Heat rises from the furrows,
The sun casts red light,
Horizon to horizon,
Oh, the fumes! Oh, Deathiculture!    

Here all questions are answered. All makes sense all fits. There is peace and happiness here in the fields and crops of infinity.


Extract/poem taken from my novel “Before the Cult”. I just heard voices in my head chant ‘Deathiculture’ and I thought I should share the weirdness.

Thanks for reading

“I need an island
And I need it fast.
Some little island
Is all I ask.

To put you on!” – Chevelle ‘An Island’


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