I have caught the dead again: I click my eyes
And there they are, mercurial ghosts, formed
And moving; so the dead do move, and shout,
And pray, and cry, and suffer
And the eye click on and one: the one shut
Catches the dead. The clouds pa** by.
God hovers over us and shrieks
We don't hear the slightest crackle
Can't see the slightest smiles
And we blur into our d**h and the second great d**h
Whilst we chase chicks and dream of a paradise without wings or sorrow, Christ's tears fall over Jerusalem. The curtains are groggy with damp, and the rails, and the tracks and the tacks, and the black and the bats, and the shrivelled shrill lights trip and laugh over the weeds and the blossoms, and throats open shut and sigh. I am the moon and the sun, the rising and the setting, the first and final breaths, and the product of the stars. I am some immortal and pointless dust.
Two bodies lie in bed for their brief moment together in eternity; the memory holds still; we watch the fireflies kiss the night and turn their backs on the Milky Way forever, as our eyes shower sweetness upon each other.