Fracking 2

Where else

Will we divine

Burning water?

Here are the words

Finger written

In Radio Active Sand.

Hear now the driller sounds

Of a chained melody that weeps.

The arrangement of gold,

Then the undo-able hurt.

These are the words

Of the changeling,

The chasm and the curve.

Her Passion’s not be in Netley,

Her pain not in the nerve.

It will be a long time in the crafting

The hurry and the landscape.

Here is the chemical of a chance,

The baddie,

The vague, the killer.

It is Hidden in the scree

And the prisms, and pools.

Like the fallen Person, wept over

When killed.

A cataclysmic action,

At the Gate to wealth or greed.

The carbon of the footprint,

The devil on the grave.

An even chanced encounter,

Or a Distraction, asking,

How grand is the scale?

The worker and the workings

The Dollar on the Sale.

A danger to the willow

A deepening in the Earth,

A fossil and a microbe

A killing and a Code.

A twisted tongue revolving

Like a drill bit in a swerve.

The common cost is upheaval

The wringing of the hands,

The shacking of the finger

The gaoler on the glands.

The fracture by the shameless

Of the honest giving mound.

An easy craft to shale.

Whilst a helpless child deforms

In the blinking of an eye.

Another coughs in torment

And another waits to die.

Christopher Thompson

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