‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more
death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things
has passed away.’                                         Revelation 21:4

Through the window nothing moves. The night is infected
with dead stars, from a dead world, in dead shade, held
hostage in the blackness of black light. The night quickens
its breath, awakens in silver. It rains on earth for another
six billion years. The darkness deepens, hides its sadness
from the eyes of dying stars, sucked into cracks of glass
bent in emptiness. Numb beyond pain. Inward and outward
scream open exit wounds that stare through bleak eyeholes
of the future, while the night sprouts pseudopods, tries to
escape the final tideline coughed up from the blood of other
worlds. From the mouth of God. Hunted by God. Fought over by
the will of other Gods.
Looking through a two way mirror;
mankind’s futility, barely visible reflection of a stammering
black hole. Ultrasound shellfire of a black pebble freed, steep
as an open mouth, swallows the world whole. Sheer drop,
methane haunted, blinded on death bed, squints its eyes;
drinks the blood of rivers, chews its own jawbone skinless,
cratered face dying in womb, mutilated. In sudden loneliness,
climbs out of its columbarium hollowed walls, cold and
shivering like a prenatal sun ghost, haemorrhaging bone dust.