the world is ending, but would you like some tea, love? i'll put the kettle on - a blackout poem

open the faint grave.

yawn.

fasten the extra sets of mirror

and watch the road fall away into cracks.

then - pass as a chill in the opposite direction.

drip through the gaps, ooze into the cracks

between the seesaws and the bread and butter.

bread and butter

bread and butter

bread and butter:

this will have to do.

gather round this breath like threads.

accumulate everything normal here,

as if there was tea and cake and one last patch of summer.

quick - hide the moon!

everything is obscure. i have no compass.

this blessing is alight, surely.

the lost sun: quivering and long forgotten;

it's closing in on me; i might be swallowed,

only to be replaced by others.

rifle for the remaining tobacco curls.

look at it. touch it. push away from the lines.

dissolve in this swollen moment,

and fall.

the wind died,

nothing moved