From underneath us comes the sound of the spiritual void
The voice is slow and deliberate at first, then
Meanders into a spindling notch of a horse-whisper
And the room sways and the candle-dark
Contends and gutters.
"Davies?" says the Voice,
"If you can hear me, give us a sign!"

"Davies?" says the voice
"Davies!" at once hissing and commenting,
"Davies! You must tell us about the War!
Why did they shoot you?
How exactly did you die?"

"Davies! Davies! Give us a sign!
Davies! Knock once if you deserted!"

Captive, we place our hands together as,
Pie-eyed and delirious, we squint
Beneath the candle dark

"Davies?" says the voice, "Davies?
Can you hear me love?"

And it is then that the knocking begins.
From far below us, somewhere whence
Nothing stems, a shocked rapping
Proceeds to galvanise us all
Into a fearful temper

And the rapping grows stronger, and
The rapping reaches a coursing crescendo,
And the rapping thrums about the whole of us,
And the rapping causes us to clench our gathered hands
In a sweaty orgy of incandescent terror

And the rapping at once gutters out,
And we are left extinguished by the nature of this mortifying world
As the candle dark splutters
Into neon divisiveness.

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Copyright JDB 1998.

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