Dinner

Penguin flight covers the night with deep groans
emanating from nobodies behind the head
reflecting dread of a raid, a break of the rhythm,
apnoea. Travelling.
Faster trees relax onto the breeze
from the bodies of shaken rats and cocoons
from which they emerged now broken,
growths on them, disgusting the senses entering
in order to experience.
My lack, breaks the spine of the everlasting motionless
idea that springs back with each tab and perforates my ear drums,
with the heady beat, perfumed defeats echo
in my small walls something that you'll never reach.
At least not lying down, not staring,
eyes dripping form rings of dew on coffee tables
seeing people in capsules watching televisions in bubbles
there are veins pumping out there, leaking,
shrieking with blockage and carrying foetal remains
out to the gutter,
kicking in the oil and wasting stems. Breaking them.
Empty then. To here knows when it will become a glum state
of affairs. Laughter glares.