Jotun

I often dream of huge, numb buildings

jet-black, sinister architecture

being installed when nobody sees.

Their appearance so sudden

that few would take notice.

And when I wake up

I imagine being crushed by one,

imagining its weight, its silence

and the absence of excuses for a havoced life

and the privilege of a 22-kilometre tombstone.

Jotun.

A body of black

that carried no reflection

defying its own room

un-earthly eggs of decreation

There would be colonies

mushroom-scattered, forever out of context

rising spores from a dying world

to pollute, to chase away what's left

Sun-white, pulverised desert stone

and serpentine lizard mouths.

Pales away the pyramids,

rewriting 4,500 years of history

raping the statue of liberty

outplays the acropolis

inverting the fjords

invades the N.Y. skyline to

dream its own existence in one single final word.

Jotun.

Can we identify them

as the flint buried in our reptile skulls

or the time-bomb coded in our DNA.