Nathan Hassall writes

Horizontal Silence

Every time I look
at a face,
the cheeks and forehead
begin to sag,
eyes retract
inward

lips crack

and voices in throats
break-
out
into un-
certain
gibberish

Every time
I look at
a body,
initially up straight,
I see its spine curve
until bent
over,

it falls into

horizontal silence

every time I look at
these corpses,

I see their lifeless glaze
of prejudice

every time I look at
their eyes,

I see
a mirror,

the wry grin
of mortality.

 Mirror -- Andreas Englund

Nathan Hassall writes

The Orchestra

Tonight, in the bitter air,

the Orchestra surrenders to the wind's falsettos,
a gale-struck dirge hurls from nature's throat.
the debris of ash-trees swirl
high into the air

shimmering dust
is lit up in the blood-red sonatas
of Earth's natural satellite

the Orchestra huddles close
in the woeful night silence
emptiness rears its repulsive head
buries itself in the devil's day-work.

damaged instruments
poke out,
pluck and wheeze
from their gluttonous graves

In the distance,
nighttime meadows are full of crackling fires,
endless rows of scintillating crops
dictate the summarising crescendo:

~the blast furnace Earth
chokes the land to drought~