... and so we found ourselves at the brink
of a new dawn, the sun so suddenly sharp
that the wind plays across building facades.
This city is now an empty thing, thrumming
with low moans, the dry scratch of shuffling
feet, the occasional scream, the wet sound
of restless meat, clacking bones. This music
is the new urban landscape, and even here –
underground – the music makes its way down
through the earth, all the way to this bunker,
just to remind us of how alone we are, how this
is a good as it will ever get. We were so smart
we painted ourselves into a corner. Now we wait
for one of two things: for death to reach us here,
or for everyone to finally go mad; to load the guns
and either try for freedom in one last mad attempt
or to put a bullet through our brains. Later, we will
be found a day late, each gun one bullet short...
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