The sun shines on the sightless.

 
Well you have your cultural prison,
fuelled by magic mushrooms, ketamine and herbs,
do poems have verbs?
everything you say will be recorded by the prism.
 
Shine on you lazy diamond,
let your hair rub your shoulders,
forced forever to push up the hill, boulders,
a sun shade in the last found carp pond.
 
A man walks round the world,
a garden centre is demolished,
your shoes are shiny and polished,
in the light blue a scarlet flag is unfurled.
 
How you prayed to your God to be saved,
so he sent a homeless freak who raved,
all will be well, all manner of things will be well,
metal thieves have nicked the cathedral bell.
 
~