where there are no more children

i will not speak of hazy storms
hiding the islands on the horizon
too late to say the night wind is coming
too late to warn the residents
I am sad i cannot discern the holographic planet
its veins and bodies of water, its neon jungles of life
there are vague illusions of people,
lined up on streets, awaiting inspection
I cannot inspect their bodies
because I am not one with hands or bodies
i’m forcing colours into shapes (futile)
i cannot ask for names,
I have no tongue for language
the book is lost in a cluster of meaning
its spirit, diffused
coaxed into depths too vast for being
the disciples, as children, are leaving the stations on unmarked trains
gone into vanishing horizons
there are a handful of us left, at least in this sphere of living
they are vague illusions of people, without a certain face or shadow
clothed in the trickery of rays
aged in either years or days
in a neighbourhood with no humans
only sentinels remain, concrete and looming
levels upon levels of vacancy
by the inroads
I spot temples made from heaps of broken furniture
signs of prior life, wood turning fungal in the night winds and rains
if you ask, what is shelter?
i will point you to the shore
from there at least we can wait
for the islands across the sea to reappear
for a depth of being to change or emerge
for the giantess to come through her witchcraftain portal
through that great metal complex with no door
i’ve been here before
on a white bed between the trees
before the yellow tower
i recall the dog barking at the baboon
i recall the man with the metal detector
they are not here now
no one is here but the breathing jungle
and the risen wall where the highway used to be
separating the shoreline from the terminal country
dividing state from dimension
did it occur again?
buildings launched into space?
it was funny then
but to find craters where families used to live
to find upturned streets
roots of an old sea showing like innards
black and twisted and sucking on air
one senses the inevitable loss
i’ve lost the tongue for prayer before ruined cupboards and dining tables
maybe i’ll stand, unmoving, on the sidewalks
maybe someone, dreaming in a far away place
will appear before me, in random
trying to know my name
trying to sift through illusions
trying not to speak of hazy storms that make the horizons disappear
trying not to mind the night winds
howling through the skeletons of creation and playgrounds

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