Dan and Steve, Steve and Dan, in a field, at the beach,
with some lads, having a throw, having a laugh
feeling the Power™, feeling each other, feeling.
The gift of innocence lands in their palms with a hush,
they let it rip. Pretty boy come hither rugby sirens call us
with their mesmeric whine, as we lose the voice of every
other language and forget all natural and manmade knowledge,
especially the fact that Steve Devine now suffers chronic migraines
and depression from years of head knocks and institutional negligence,
and Dan Carter sells Cryptocurrency.
I throw it counter-clockwise with my left hand and pray
it will suck the scream from the air and send us back
to a place where we are guided by noise.
When does a howl become an interrogation?
When was the last time you went outside for pleasure, Steve?
What remains in the age of undiscovered yearning, Dan?
When will the solar system stop spinning us into a perpetual newness?
If you could do it all again, would you? Would you dive into the sand
and wake up, a child, once more? How far would you go
for one last moment under an unspoiled sky? 30? 60? 90 metres?