Oh, those new
divine ones
Bored of the world
They give birth to
destruction
Their lives a silent art.
They laugh at death
That single
final
end
And barricade their world.
Burn as bright suns
till the end of day
Living,
Dying,
not recording,
each his own Schrödinger
breaking bones against a blood sky
Never allowing compromise.
They refuse the world
And it’s comforting
photographs.
– Job