deluge

…these days of deluge

this island is becoming a puddle

my wife sits on a noisy leather sofa playing with a phone – a cold coffee sits at her feet like a tired dog – who’s dreams consist of its owner shouting his name

today they closed down the Department of Goodnews

the trains stopped running
and stood imprisoned like metal snakes at the end of the line

after I awake
and before I put on my glasses
everything seems underwater

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