Death Metal for Seniors

We sleep hard against the dirty noise gaunt darkness, the rhythm of rain even on the inside, there is the same weightless beauty pressing against the ribs, hunger drawn taut in mesmerizing brutality his words are damaged – and he an artifice of passing antiquity can do little but scape the memory clean There is little left to be said in the silence that slices between us, where thoughts rupture into storm and choke the light into slow, shapeless black so, we watch his funeral together on a rise just below the jagged-eyed moon, her swelling belly a fleshy dusk blue and we, held to her flame in the stillness ache in deep and empty gasps night finally crashes upon us hard and brilliant melting us into the snap of brute open space where the heart, beating burns into the raw morning our converging shadows