What now

Walking back that night,
where statues, greek and weary
rotted by the riverbank,
Between the rushes, greenish blue
and plastic bags, their bellies burst,
The marble hands, grey streaking
Stretched, strange-angled, out
from the thick infected water,

She sat beneath a drooping lamp
Post, spouting filthy pools of light,
in shudder-sputtered lung-drowned coughs,

And saw that it was good.

 
But now,
she wondered, and up it chewed her
once again, the great all eating question,
Yet kept askewed,
By moon bound pills and
sweeping fractured lights,
struck by the thud-and-rumbling,
music, surging, gargled out
gangrenous megaphones,
Out, from the raging gaping core,
all night, but now come swarming back:
What now? 
What now, amidst the purple-bloated swirls
of mutilated gorging dusk, the droning rising
louder now than ever.
From fly-torn flesh decay, it drowned her
Out from everything around her. be quick
She thought and kissed him harder;

She swam dissolving fingers through his dark and dampened hair,
Felt him loosen all around her
And heard once more the racing,
Pacing beat to cling to;
The rocking of her mother’s arms,
and sought upon some stranger’s swollen,
earth-cracked lips
The taste of home perhaps,
or someplace else.

And out
The corner of her eye, she caught,
at last, the lumbering day,
stretching taught its dawdled skin,
all flabby 'cross the vellum sky.

It dared not shine too bright quite yet;
Sheepish it had snuck in thief-like,
through the cracks in the horizon,
Tentatively, it's tentacled fingers first.
And seeing it now redden from the guilt,
She let herself not chase it back below.