Poetry

Anhedonia

It is dark outside.

Except, perhaps, for wandering headlights

Or the glint of teeth spread open in un-hinged glee.

Drunken wading through the dirty air

(because of course we cant smell the sea)

Is it wicked not to care?

 

And in the day the city drums

A slow descent.

Faces slung across dry bones

or something about the way the sun burns.

(but in my ears ring dulcet tones)

 

The sky is black

The sky is red

Let me hang stars about my head

Strap black velvet round your arms and mourn

The trees murmur in the breeze

Soon it will be dawn.