Nothing is coming

It’s all going

Vanishing future space

      Blocks for the new

energy remain isotopes

here’s hoping what resonates overlapping ghost’s

     brings the ‘definitive’ culture to bare 

over skulls and bones

 hear them crunch beneath a plaintive cello solo

so hollowed out it grows over newly seeded thought

descending down the back some abandoned alleyway where

nature died once

framed by approved memories

And this we love 

‘the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous

regeneration of primordial myth.’

Because in a homely way it tells us we are loved by ourselves and 

That this is enough to go on breathing with

This apparatus we call human.