Space closes in as time and light narrow,
assassinating every image
in the full truth of the pain,
its cruel, inexpressible poetry.
As the strap around your head bites deeper
you try to recall that other world,
the place of calm and darkness
where dreams waited on luggage racks,
but there is only this moment
of stark energy with hollowed centre,
a neurochemical exoskeleton
carrying the virus of your future.
Published in Quadrant
S.C. Flynn 