Tusk tips dripping oil
hammer on a chalky skull looking for a dream.

Coiling trunks baffle down a spine,
piling teak timber at the edge of breathless cities.

There’s an empty moat with a spiralled sinkhole,
a devils giant mouth beneath exhales human bones.

A snail in a plastic bottle curls to its own extinction,
closing from the inside and screwing down the top.

The Lid slams shut,
The Lights go out,
The Sea runs dry,
The air afire.

I wake

and gasp for life.

The audio is purposely overblown