ten thousand years of dust

gently comes to rest right now

the last taken photograph

was of stone pillars

a little child in the foreground

with a focused expression

and the final ticker tape flicker

grimly reads: pond’s all dried up

fish bones stabbed through cheeks

rain seeps into hard drives

somehow there’s still a train

running deer down in the dark

it’s morning and it feels like evening

mumble something into my neck

our senses are all we’ve got

keeping us attached in time

else we’d just float straight away

everybody’s walking around

trying to not get hurt

it’s morning and we’re making breakfast

orphans squirming in the dump

we just want to watch tv

ghosts sigh and go back to sleep

In the painted backdrop of a bad film

we can live in brushstroke mountains

and stifle our laughter

like schoolchildren

let it show in your eyes

let me see that you’re alive

there are places, we know

that can never be conquered