I am becoming as cold inside as the winter snow on the fields
as icy and frigid as the waters of the creek
remnants of humanity clinging tight to my frame
in desperate remembrance of joy
those too, shall fall away, blown to the edges of the world
by the bitter winds of utmost grief
I am frightened by this growing chill, I do not wish to go there
in that callous, cold-blooded existence, indifferent to
consequence or emotion. Desolation in extremis
with all the concomitant apathy
but it comes, without regard to my struggle to stay
at least in part human and warm
I am falling into this void of emotionless dispassion
where words and deeds cause ripples that do not matter
where self or others do not count in the toneless blank destruction
In this place there will be not joy nor laughter
nor the understanding of what makes those things possible
already I do not care as it approaches
but with it comes only the desire to have others
feel the same, the desert of blankness and void of comfort
The emptiness comes and it drives to spread
to crumble those edifices of happiness that are made
and tear down the walls of joy that others may build
to destroy lives and bring the shroud of misery to the world
and I see it coming
though I may fight yet some short time longer
to remain human and compassionate as far as it takes me
until the nothingness wraps me in nihilism
to rip apart all I find and all I can
And yet! This did not have to be
would but simple words have been spoke
Perhaps I’ll find you there, in that cold dark place
where the vicious reign of despair joins the throne of denial
with your blue stare as cold as my hazel
and the end of worlds on the tips of our tongues


The end of the world seeps in through the cracks
enveloping silent reality in the cold dark
no apocalyptic fires or shivering earth
not inundation or raging storm
the end of the world consists of little things
that break and roil ‘gainst the shores of existence
of loneliness and sorrow wrought of fallen dream
of lost nights in shallow grave mind
heart-rent lyric from a forgotten chorus
the end of the world rolls in like mist on an autumn morning
rising in crepuscular air, strange forms in writhing phantasm
permeating flesh and bone and soul
an intimate conclusion for each outcast heartbeat
words fall to desuetude in malicious coda
the end of the world is glass shattered mirrors
on unswept floors of barren beings
susurration cessation of the stillness coming
one million reflected lights from a single eye
suffocated in chilling breath and ragged word
the end of the world drips stalactites relentless
in twilight caverns to cuspated points
slow evisceration of old-held belief, hewing
entropy in frozen-frame images from a lost silver screen
eroded acetate of abandonment dreams

Te mutunga. Acrylic on canvas

My faculty for language is returning and my post-stroke cognitive abilities seem to be in full recovery. I realise this is a rather bleak piece, but there you have it


The fires are burning
as I stumble across the earth
mere compensation
for times we left behind
Gabriel falling
to live with mortal men
trumpet is silent
the empire can’t defend

Nephilim rising
to take back what was theirs
hate for the living
for what they have become
Prometheus wishing
that he’d never given them
fire and knowledge
with which they could define

Time is standing still in this empty void
Lightspeed near and forever to be destroyed
Stars are burning out in this hollow place
Destruction of the fabric of all of time and space

The angels are not coming
just oblivion’s call
no gods left to answer prayers
wings crumbled all to dust
Demons walk in human guise
false empathy their cry
for courage lacked by humankind
will rain down eradication

Time is standing still in this empty void
Lightspeed near and forever to be destroyed
Stars are burning out in this hollow place
Destruction of the fabric of all of time and space

The fires are burning
as I stumble across the earth
and the embers blaze in my eyes
like times we left behind
Heaven has fallen
and the silver city gone
voices are silent
the empire can’t defend

Time is standing still in this empty void
Lightspeed near and forever to be destroyed
Stars are burning out in this hollow place
Destruction of the fabric of all of time and space


There is no meaning, no moral import or
justification for living. Bring in the bricks
one by one and hide untouchable
destitute in chitinous shell
disconsolate and incomplete
this carapace grows apace and shelters
the husk within, the vacuum expands
to the desert space
There is no breach in this barricade
façade that it might be
notwithstanding that you hold the key
and with a single shot from a cannon of words
could crumble the walls of this barren fortress
I am the king and emperor of this sterile citadel
detached and solitary
in the hermit gaze of the mirror
I am lord and master of my own
annihilation, the obliteration of
all perception or consciousness
unfeeling as the stones that built this
chill and unforgiving tower
abandoned ambition and demolished dream
fluttering lifeless as castoff banners
insignificant and futile in the dust outside
This fortress was built by your hand
behind these palisades I remain
hollow within as hollow without
none may knock this door nor cross this moat
the entryway is locked and you have
thrown away the key
the drawbridge has been raised
the portcullis dropped heavy to flagstone ground
ever locked away in astringent stasis
cold comfort, anaesthetized, benumbed
and vacant


There is no good, no evil
no karmic retribution or heavenly reward
just this endless slide to chaos
a law of statistical mechanics writ large on
human existence
all meaning we assign, in desperation or hubris
ultimately unnoticed, unworthy, unimportant
at 2.73 degrees Kelvin. And falling
falling into the end of forever on scales we cannot
comprehend, as all movement ceases, and time ends
Nothing we do can matter in this infinite and
infinitesimal measure
Aleph-null and Aleph-one
aloof infinities in uncountable dispassion
all collapse as they expand and shiver in the frigid cold
until they cease to vibrate at all
I can hurl my cries to the stars, and as they wink and die
in that endless instant of cosmic time
they do not care in their detachment
and while we may be the stuff of stars, we too
drift into disarray and pandemonium
the stars, the planets, all manner of measureless things
They do not care for my entreaties
Any more than you do, my dear