Cracked Heaven

Cracks in concrete,
dirty and sick.
Our vagrant fingers claw
at the night-sun.

Rust and urine.
Plastic flakes flick
among our shivering leaves
coarse and numb.

Stars fight the fake lights
of falling paradise,
a dark hyperborea
in which to run.

And as our bitter seeds fill
the savage steel,
run we will, as weeds
over cracked heaven's wheel

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.