We’re hiding from torrential rain under sheets of yellowed truths
and twenty-one grams of soul, away from the gleaming sparks
in the charcoal sky. We’re following our torchlight down the cave,
sometimes we shiver in the damp hollowness and raindrops run
round our rubber-like mouth corners indefensibly, slowly, lonely.
The screams of heaviness and the laughter of tortured lives echo
past stalagmites ripping through the floor like knives through hearts
uncaring of childhood memories. The torchlights are fading away
with a last hovering over lunar craters and the final hideaway
round the seawater-polished corner, darkly, irreverently, solely.
These cracks in our souls and the last slivers of love stuck
in our throats, they’re fighting in circles like a thrush’s song thrashing
all, even the fresh darkness imbuing the air around us. Thunder fracturing
the sky far away outside, a catalogue of preludes for other lives
and other earths vanquishing us, relentlessly, acridly, dismally.