Compression

We are in the land of wandering vagabonds
compressed upon each other
disintergrating into the earth
while Jupiter watches on.

We are unstable when our footpaths
lead downward into the gaping mouth
of screeching beasts that snake
underground; only forward momentum.

A current of bodies carrying flint
in pockets, tinder-flame sparks
light the way, a grain of salt
in a concrete land, reaching skyward.

A current of electricity, lighting matches
combustible air, we can only move forward;
the past has already disappeared
down the throats of stark seagulls.

We are in the land of twilight
waiting behind glass for protection
if we do not bend, we break.
Let the waters wash over us.

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