These Days
These days become as one,
a continuum of carbon monoxide
poisoning and buttercream,
sandwiched by torn highways;
leading to distant hills,
desolate plains,
places without names.
In passing I light each lamp,
a string of moth-stained pearls
receding and bleeding
through industrial husks and sea-sides;
winking and sizzling
souls dying,
portents of dislocation.
You are everything to me,
my waking link to life,
centre and fabric
of worlds beyond these days;
shining and beauteous,
sacred omen,
that to which I cling.
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