We’ve played this track so often it’s hardly us that plays.
Talking down your cigarette as you’ve done since school,
we’re choosing a life in Vancouver, Malaysia,
or a night-bus to Liverpool,
as if railing against the silence made it filled.
A crow settles in the branches' complications.
The embery light you annul could be a spill
whose imminent detonation
will blow us to all four corners, where-god-knows.
My boy, our lives are tangled in the machinery
we have built, and to feel the earth between our toes
would feel so much a victory
it’s anything but. Father, there is no elsewhere
save the hidden here you await like a cicada.
There is no one for the road. London, Singapore,
Canis Major, Cassiopeia.