Member Poem

The peak of Mackenzie’s pyramid–tomb
insists the nightclouds part,
that it should pierce the full yellow moon–
a diseased eye overseeing his plot.

Railwayman, firebrand, gambler;
all it would take to outwit the devil
was to keep overground, to deliver
this black testament to his finest hour.

Entrance sealed with his wife’s portrait,
sapphire set, her eyes are white–
she sees only what the stones see,
the family Bible flung into the fire.

Each page curling at the edges
as flame feeds, gospel crumbling to ash;
scraps of parchment rising again
like dark billowing angels summoned at last.

Cold heart thrown as ante into every game,
like some blind, bloated worm
languishing at the bottom of a whisky glass.
The spades rinsed clean from his winning hand.

Billy Mackenzie sits in his sinking tomb,
idiot-gape skull in tattered threads,
as someone approaches who refused to be fooled,
who knows all things must return to earth.