It is cold and dark

in the universe 

when you cat is dead

and your wife not talking to you

and the planets

are moving

apart as if they have

nothing left to say

and your father lied to you

and your sister

is in a psychiatric ward

on New Years Eve

and you bury your

thoughts under red wine

and propanaol 

and out of date prozac

from your dead mother’s

dressing table

Yes, it’s cold and dark

when the dead don’t 

come back but 

their ghosts won’t leave

and you’re alone in 

a world filling

with static

and your heart is broken

and the mortgage is due

and history is repeating 

itself like bad TV.

 

Yes, it’s cold in the universe

whatever that new 

billion dollar 

telescope might say,

when the universe goes on forever

when your diary is empty

and nuclear war is due

when all our gods are dead

or despised and 

toppled like statues 

at the bottom of the sea,

when we’re all alone

and talking with the dark

like a dog in a burned

out shuttle in the cold

vacuum of space,

our faces huddled around 

glowing little screens,

when you’re child awoken in the night,

listening to voices

from another room,

raising questions to nobody

and getting nothing 

in return.