Mosquito squeal
Dainty lance and wound pastiche
‘Tis our body
Defeated in sunshine
Drawn-out, droning sound
We move, and climb, and
Struggle ever further
From ourselves
Looking out from a
Mass of stars
Cosmic void that
Frames our hollow pleas
Week-old fly
Half waiting
Anticipating
The blow
Firing synapses
Muscles so tightly
Stringed
Teeth gnashed
Skin as Albion
Gently sliding, collapses
Across piano keys
Each body round
All cores extracted
Against an ever-woven pattern
Among an ever-rising mist
Burning and burning
Forever returning
To that tiny
Speck of matter
Sliding down the
Endless ladder