Underneath The Contrived Surface Of Things: (15th May,2021)
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This boned moon pokes through
Weary flesh of sullen night.
Cold stars drift like ghosts.
Slow silence grows oppressive.
Surfaces collapse.
As their counterfeit glow fades,
Dark textures unfold.
They are revealed layer by
Layer and all point
To an infinite abyss,
I witness the birth
Of a malignant beauty
That signals the end
Of warm progress; flowered dawns:
No calm messiahs;
No bloodless revolutions;
Only the stark tick
Of time moment by moment.
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