Event Horizon

Every day they’re dying now that it’s clear the event horizon’s near. Wobbles left on his motorbike, Happs in his car. Rundle lay down in the back seat covered with a blanket and expired. My boyhood Buddhism had us like holograms that slup in slup out and in again and out like we dived into pools on summer days with siestas on our towels face down hiding erections imagining conquest; this forever followed by another and another. I touched Sue’s breasts between the vines at Red Hill then drove fast at the tree-sky merge filled with my need and my possibility. Now the event horizon pulls and I mule back on my haunches as friends who gravity has disappointed fly by. There’s Choco whose promise became disappointment, Jabu whose streets led him astray, so many who crowed from balconies, laughed at the sun’s earnest rays. Nights, I expect telemarketers to be old friends telling of more loss such is the momentum; children keep lining up that’s good and my darling we fight and streak with light still like good whiting the line’s got hold of but when we break the surface others have broken, tiny rings on the flat, implacable water, what configuration of time and space and physicality could possibly await?


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