Ant Smith

All poems

Primordial scum

This room's rising damp tide line
Reminds you of the bad times
Wading in shit with your
Shoulders in the sunshine
Everything dry is
Wet underneath
It's the moist and the damp
That brings you relief

You primordial scum
You petty little thief
You can't expect to
Be forgiven by me

The odour of wet paint
Masks the smell of your old ways
The stink in your house
Is the stink of mass graves
Everything that's sweet
Has a stench and has a reek
It's the dark fetid places
That send you sound to sleep

You primordial scum
You petty little thief
You can't expect to
Be forgiven by me

In the dark corners
Black fungal mould will grow
Spreading like the hairs on
Your fingers and your toes
Everything is viral
A swiftly spreading sore
You are at your happiest
At its weeping open core

You primordial scum
You petty little thief
You can't expect to
Be forgiven by me