On The 431 Poem by David McLean Mathews

There was madness
on the bus this morning,
a lilting, baffling madness
rolling up in a wall from the south
like a huge black thunderstorm

Tenacity.

Lip flicking, brow arching
speedfreak window eyes
curtained by black
arcane hair.
She quivers in my arms
seizure stricken,
fingers porcelain
snapped like twigs.

Splashes of blood,
of rain hailing madness.
A desolate uneven
temptation.

(Glebe Sydney,1992)