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A blitzkrieg

of love and neurons.

A bombardier of blood cells 

clothing my bones in ancestral cloaks.

I have a bombshell to drop on humanity. 

Our skins are painted by an old dying sun 

and the blue epidermis of godless skies 

can be lifted by pyrocumulus clouds.

Satan is not a nuclear missile.

Man elects himself God! 

Rain should not be black, 

man should not be anything

but human in flawed construct. 

Homes should have doorways 

but there should be no locks.

Borders are made by ink. 

Ink is a blackened rain 

natural in our oceans 

unnatural in skies.

Autumn oak 

bomb on me. 

I am a tree 

of atoms 




Antony Owen is a writer of overlooked people and key defining events of post war societies, taking inspiration from his working-class background. His work has featured in Poetry International Europe and also been shortlisted for The Ted Hughes Award. His new and selected poems is our with Broken Sleep Books in Summer 2024

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