Dust

The dust that settles round us obscures the anachronic Mnemonics of tradition And class fondly repeated In cities where the living Exist entombed by the dead The dead are embalmed by dogmas they never knew by the living Enmity swims with capital In fonts of saliva and sin Inoculating masochists against its dull dolour The dust that gets in our eyes just before we start to cry Is the same that fragments us, to anatomize our souls Into the scattered infinite It's true that you can walk Blistered across burning anthems. The same hummed by paper tigers crooned by soluble fish It's also true i must say, Greco-Roman pediments Truly love their masters Because they end up in the clinics the next morning embarrassed The next morning embarrassed We, however, learnt our proverbs through carvings in boorish walls But the dust permeates Even through the thickest of all the breeze-blocks It crawls in all orifices But it is not louder than the voice of the MLDE