Winter 2020. There was a time of long discussions with a flatmate, where shared life experience and thought flowed smoothly from consciousness to consciousness. This is a product of disappointment.
When we had cast our minds into the flame
It were weeks where all the ways
Were shorter than the lengths
By which our words
Had passed from lips to ears
And starry skies ahead appeared much clearer
Held against the dead and hollow hands of time
When we looked down
It weren’t giants
But the backs that held the world
And hurled the stone
Were beasts of burden
Made from clay
Who sparked the spark
And set ablaze the countless stars
Above the backs
Where we were placed
When you withdrew
It were the days
That we had stopped our ceaseless pace
Past kitchen tiles and livings space
You sought an easy explanation
That did not need familiar faces
Underneath our feet as motive force and faith
But could be held a privatized illumination
Then you were again
Back on backs of giants
The toiling mass a myriad shoulders strong
Had once more become
Just the one
That stamped its sign
With blazing violence
Onto every name
Dear friend
I hope to see you
Soon again
On this side
Of our class divide.