Apocalypse out there. Here, endless wheels,
sparks; pockets of restrained & segmented light. Lovely ways you defy me. Best moments,
always, you on top, when the world ends a little
bit. Warmth between lovers can never be
unnatural. Nor can hostage-taking, or a healthy
regard for oblivion. It's all that's left in common
between us & them: twisted limbs. Our mouths
move like theirs: flips, bites. Our movements
prefigure the same ends: consummated peace,
mediated silence, "deliberate hebetude." We're
w/ them as a necessary antithesis. They can't
see us. They never could. It's left to us to make
a balance, if we can. We'll need nothing less than luck.
© Adam Fieled 2006-2025
Earlier versions of this piece appeared in Big Bridge and Melancholia's Tremulous Dreadlocks
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