by Megan Cartwright
The beast speaks with the voice of my friend.
Difficult to tell, until the surface tension of his thoughts began to bend –
late-night messages, tentacles questing for a multiverse of dead ends.
His words, black holes.
Lately, the beast’s been working overtime: the graveyard shift.
He gets his buzz on, does not know the hum for what it is:
flies on meat left to rot in the sun.
He skips his renal appointments, like it’s an option to live.
***
Megan Cartwright is a poet and Literature teacher, based in Canberra, Australia. Her work has been featured in print and online journals and magazines including Contemporary Verse 2, Cordite Poetry Review, The Opiate and Quadrant.
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