We inhabit the world’s pipeline
picking up fallen apples, friends who
died of battlefield injuries turned into
slowly burned paragraphs,
churches modelling new prisons,
floating prayers from cell to cell
damp kiss proof that we are enemies.
Beneath the viewpoint air currents force
tired birds into submission,
from our enclosure we like watching
the fall talking about ourselves
pretending to see the unwhole in
small incisions below the continuum.
In truth, knowing too much about
the ferocious nature of man.
Illustration Rupert Loydell