Swear

swear they did steal
us from our presumed solace.

oh, if we only had time
to stop Nick Cave
and his Murder Ballads.

if we had time only
to rebuff the call
of fluted pain...

ripped off?
those stars in
the acoustic skin of the night?

oh, no, they didn't feel so.

we knew the art of breaking codes,
knew its high voltage,
cheered incensed colours.

unbreakable were we,
folded-atypically-in crossbeams.

click.