How can some nocturnes
not turn us to grief?
That we climbed those skies.
After our making it became our unmaking.
What is fear when all is fearful?
The moment to collect the go
bag arrives. He has last instructions:
Don’t open the door. For anyone.
Take this. Use it if anyone opens it.
I will not be back.
Still dull hope flickers in the depleted oxygen
of a stretched shaman’s hasty scheme.
Tipping points just tip.
A lawn crumbles for the last time.
We are those who will be ended
by raw heat and its attendants.
Tie knots, smith things.
Cash the preparations you made.
The boots were well worth the investment,
if not to the shadowrat you took them off.
Some grifters will flourish
in a new golden age
of grimy, desperate faith.
Liam Ferney’s most recent collection, Hot Take (Hunter Publishing), was shortlisted for the Judith Wright Calanthe Award. He is a media manager, poet and aspiring left-back living in Brisbane.