Life Support

We knew exactly what would happen,

but sat back, content to watch it

draw closer, from the sketchbook to

a vivid portrait:

doom.

-

Arriving like a scheduled train in first person,

L’Arrivée d’un train en gare de La Ciotat

forever altered by technology and industry

the twisting road to Nowhere,

the serpent’s tail.

-

A wicked game

of snakes and ladders

played with daggers

-

ignored the daytime television, blaring to itself

in the darkest room,

doing nothing more than trying to drown out the noise:

impassioned guilt.

-

Years spent lost, alone in deep space

for what?

-

The loneliness like a knife in the stomach, near-fatal

a scratching pain, near antenatal

but all we seem to birth is hurt

the labour intensive cityscape

we built with our calloused hands

exhales the steam that slowly starts to melt our lungs,

-

land colonised,

for what?

-

Blades in the gut,

impregnated

as we bleed out

on the tarmac,

-

leaning on the lamppost not to fall asleep

our cold, metallic

life support.