After midnight, when my inner voice
is whispering in tongues,
I remember that the poets of new thought
are forever in the future.
I never hear what’s said,
only echoes of what isn’t.
When the moon’s complete,
Selena shapes her lunar light
to pale beauty, ghosts who stare
with dry-ice eyes, sharp and unforgiving.
They turn my dreams to arctic dust
and leave behind erasure.
Soon the solar flares will light the Catherine Wheels,
and the worthy who so deem themselves
will wear the masks of Ra.
Blindfold in the quiet streets, I’ll heed
the subtle warnings of the lifeless,
and wonder what awaits us all.
Subtle Warnings, from a stunning original photograph of Boral Cement Works at Berrima, courtesy Mark Freeman, with the ominous visual evo engine and ghostly CYNDE, cyclic nonlinear desaturation.