BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

They opened a door – three foot tall it was –and led us into a patch of darkness, like stepping into the point where the world ends. I thought I might fall right in once I took my first step, when the door behind us closed shut to those who used to think life is a tragedy. ‘It is indeed,’ they said, ‘the greatest comedy of all.’

It swallowed us whole, one by one.

Rosa Thorne

flameproof sand and waxy smiles set a sound a candle is burning, and you, gleeful predators, carve the hardened wax from its resting plate, lift it, and raise it again, over flowering orange heat, watch as it quivers, loses every last bit of shape, and you smile as you count the drops in the next few breaths you lose your nerve, you fling away twisted wax remains do you care if it goes out?

the four of you are gathered in a sleepy warmth mutters, drinks, modern chic flaked-paint doors ice and mint leaves suffocating velvet lampshades only the balcony reveals the lifeless half-life outside mushy cardboard paste runs into wet concrete, sad car horns with another round of olives for the table, one side of fries, you stand and you walk