gaps in the memory like sheer sided rifts
disrupting rutted tracks leaving chasms of
utter vacancy where no signage survives
the free fall screaming plummet to a darkness
where we cease to cangue as whole things
connected and sure of whom we were before
we came here to a space of nowhere
familiar
where no space is yo mother **** yo bad ass
yo dick-shit yo little bro lying sad in fear –
dying sick-aware in damp piss-pants scared
deathless of an ever consuming emptiness
puking yellow and wretched – grovelling in
stench-reeking gut-wrenching spasms of doubt
whom we were before we came here...
© 22 August 2007, I.D. Carswell
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