Right into the dark hole of night
we move,
what a prospect –
whose claim?
No security,
no canary,
our future is a seam
of – not necessarily –
excrement.
Possibly
somebody downed a golden coin.
Okay –
you can trade that against something
comforting.
But beware!
Open fire might blow
your habitat.
Written by Jakob Dittmar.
Cover photo by Enjy Ashour.