Dirty City Underworld

Dirty City Underworld

Saturday morning. 
The sky’s had darkened at around 9.30am
gradually worsening towards lunchtime when the rain began to pour. 
It poured on, after a small inconsolable weep, 
escalating to the unimaginable grief for a dead loved one, 
aching, wave after wave of sorrow from the sky, 
water where for once it could fly
struck from the deepest moist residue hearts from heaven
to the low lying, slowly dying, black filtered clouds, shielding the dismay below. 
Blacker than the pit workers, nay blacker than the ace of spades, 
Clouds like cards dealt by the devil himself.

A city of industry, a grand city of misery 
and a city where you could die without being noticed…
however life does exist here in economy and nature through various statures.
The sound of the liquid flowed through a markets ears. 
Dirty water ran through the guttering, over flowing round the dirty nests 
pissing a vile urea all over the city and the mortified birds long since drowned, 
fleeing to bird hell and as much seed as their gluttonous little breasts could hold. 
To burn in Hells Avery was a damn sight better 
than hazarding the treacherous down sided airways in the city, 
dipping uncontrollably in waterlogged, lack of catch 
down to fetter in a watery wet bed of bile.

Acid rain fell sideways in parallel lines, railway sleepers, reliably heavy. 
Trillions of crawling, hopping and sliding insects fighting, biting, spreading the
splurge, racing from the hungry birds, scampering in the mucky corners, dirge
crevices and cracks, against the city’s stench and bad food 
lying in each gutter, ripe for a birds pecking birds, birds, spiders and turds!
The rain found its way over, piping down, wet flossy fir, 
the Markets surrounding mossy walls, 
over the pavement, along the slab, into the sidings and the gutters, 
the cracks, the drains, in sewers it falls, 
to join the city’s shit, piss, effluent and chemical residue. 
The dirty bath water, skin, bone, blood and spit, 
To flow again with the stink of the city’s after waste, rising shit. 
The blockages began to giggle, gurgle and titter. 

Levels overflowing, rising from the dead, 
from bodies resting murdered, lying buried without heads 
under basement floors, dismembered in rotten bin bags 
under garden turf, souls gathering tattered, smirking, blackened mirth. 
Their time had finally come to rid themselves 
of the pointless deathly existence, ‘live a little’, no more complaining, 
‘lets cause a stink!’ they resound, lets make this place smell like the shithouse it really is. 
‘Pull together all your resources, 
all you dead and waste, lets break out of the dungeons, 
lets hit the streets, let us run with the wind, up past the feet 
of the sad, the noble, the good the unlucky and the ugly. 
Let’s get right up their noses and tickle their throats, 
make them cough and splutter with the smell from the gutter!’.

Yes the waters rose and with them did 
the demons of the city, the real undesirable things, 
the things that we’d thought we had flushed away, 
the stuff we didn’t know existed except for in its rightful place
Underground, in it’s underworld, the scourge of the drowning.