Solomon's Temple

The old Buxton blues
strike in forty three places.
A James Ensor masquerade
of lysergic faces.

Walking in a green shade
under canopy of tall trees.
Hell's Barrow,
under the harrow,
chased by evil energies.

Twill of trouser, tripping
over tussock and tumulus;
running to the temple,
stepping out on to cumulus.

The ground crumbles like
tectonic Brownie McGhees.
Sing a lilting lullaby
on the Grin Low breeze:

Imps and demons, come away,
in this cave let's cavort and play;
for this is Satan's holiday...

Imps and demons, come away.

B.R. 21/08/2016