Moment


Three pieces of sweets were enough to enjoy the week, 
one with passion, two with despair,

having a sip of indifference, 
calculating the exhaustion of a week of stagnation 
from day to night.

Following the chapel, people watch people walking up a hill, 
to be healed from the consistent gloom. 

A season that compels reflection comes at the door, 
knocking on the slumbering bubbles inside the ache. 

A pretty wild, suicidal cult 
peels their skin round and round. 

Within this tension, 
where one another’s restrained and latent madness 
may surface at any moment, 
they are mediated through their conversation.

The eroded emotions seep out like the dregs of society, 
appearing in the moments of the everyday. 

Reasons enough to erase me from my memory, 
practising habits that erase who I was,
to be tamed by their memory, 

watching the archived cracks,
watching the archived sentiments.