in the unlikely event

there is something louder than your heart
it supersedes the asperity of your bones

a wind forced through an aperture moans
it sounds like a death rattle, an agonal breath

this which your mind fastens upon
will always remain impermanent
even the sun is a transient thing
it will engulf half its own planets
in 5 billion years
what is your worry now?

there is something stranger than knowledge
there is ritual and belief

a dry voice remains a dry voice
a hollow head remains a hollow head

this matters not
find solace where you can get it

What I’m Reading:

There will be paved roads at night, the skeletons of power-line towers, and abandoned villages, fairy-tale-like in the nocturnal fog. During the day, a scorching-hot reverie reaches its heights there; at night, a damp mist settles on the ground and wraps everything in a web of gray shadows. Nothing disperses the mist, nothing disturbs it: only the light of headlamps, a streak of the Milky Way, and an infinite, star-filled glow. 

— Markiyan Kamysh / Stalking the Atomic City