the dingo lounge

those of the brown-skin lycanthrope

have merely become the forgotten offspring

from the dark ages of the dreamtime

the black man’s beliefs

are being swallowed up and regurgitated in foreign lands for a

dollar

the night creatures sucked into a vacuum of the techronic abyss

the shapeshifters skulk around the dingo lounge

haunted by the screaming engines of the machines of

consequence

longevity just a whisper in the wind

as their numbers dwindle

and the dark hours are stolen by the monsters of new:

drug addicts, paedophiles and killers

the spirits have almost lost their foothold

the children of the rainbow serpent have no use for demons

scientific justification has rationalised their roles with prozac

and institutionalisation

the dreamtime can be resurrected anytime

and found on the video store shelves

while in the dingo lounge

redundancy and health in death escalates

the bonemen have performed their last dance

and the shrieks of the black dingo go unheard in the night

as the ferryman has already gone down with his ship

and Morpheus in his arduous attempts to dream

has taken to anti-depressants

there comes no storrnbird to deliver them to another side

as they fall into the landscape of the shadowmead

and the faded memories of the storytelling damned