Samsara

Darkness drinks
the light of Earth -
sounds of empty and soon to be empty
in the thick black that
hurts your ears listening.

Ahead, a raven laughs
with eyes dead white, chilling
like the grounds of Passchendaele as a
torpid cooling wind goes through your shirt -

and thunder strikes out of the stillness. A deafening clap
that wakes you from a cold dream to
the warm humming of computers.
I drain the wholesome black
of a coffee and the colour
seeps into my mind like the branches
of some subterranean chandelier.

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