Fruitful is my hatred, blossoming
Just like Mother’s always saying;
Just like Mother’s simple sayings,
”                                                              ”
She didn’t say a thing,
Not a tear drop anything,
then why am I still bleeding?
Why are my insides seeping?
Why do my bones, still aching,
Lie in radioactive sludge, still dripping
Through my worn out casements, spilling,
As the bellows they are billowing
My innards, they are singing,
Into radiation, they are glistening,
Through the metal bolts, they are eating,
Turning me to filings they are flinging
‘cross the wasted whorl.
To be released, they are screaming,
Upon this tin and tiny world.


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