The Reckoning

The Reckoning

It will come 

It will come

The militant bass and judgement day drum

There will be joy among the scattered ruins

A prospect set free from the tyranny of vision

Closed eyes will see the world as it is

Or as we want it to be

Molluscs leave a mascara trail

These tears are not mine

They are tracks along which many will travel

When the thunder shatters the granite throne

And the high pass cradle of a divine wind

Bestows the sweetest derangement

It will come

My analogue fever dream

The one where we fall 

And fall again

One drop clean rhythm chop

Clavinet and horn proclaim the earth

As we slide towards the reckoning

Refugees roam the retail parks

Heaping rubble and dust on SUVs

Chirp of self-service scanners

But the shoppers are long gone 

The aisles stripped clean

Security guards play dice with their teeth

Jah Wobble grin as the forecourt burns

Uptown in a fire house clash

Minor chord meets major

To beget a righteous flagration

In this iration

Armagideon time

When I die

I will be in King Tubby Heaven 

Where apostles of dub

Carve deep caverns of sound

And the heavy heavy pulse of the earth

Pulls me down into space

I am sorry for whatever was left undone

My body somewhere still ploughs the fields

But here in this kingdom

In this Kingdom 

We dance

It will come

It will come

The caravan of bass and carnival of drum 

February 2022

Still from The Last of England (Derek Jarman, 1987)