Closer

Opening eyes on the floor
burn with the heavy hanging
taste in the air,
Mourning with thumping walls

the thankless hedonism of
mere hours before,
Held up in silver pieces and
refusing to fold amongst

the worthless plastic,
Trapped in leather sheets,
Violent sickness masking pain
behind ink drops of red

on glassy papers,
Drowning in wrapped metal
foil and acidic plastics
with a dreaming child,

Closer to God through
a glass tube, floating
above blood and bile and
sulphur, floating

above the nightmares made
real for rattling pockets,
Ruffled feathers wilting through
neglect, dirt, fire;

Mourning with thumping walls
the thankless hedonism
ready to come,
For the silver that won’t fold.

north end

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