Still-Life

They look up,
Upturned faces, open-mouthed,
Wide-eyed;
Their screams suspended in the air,
Speared by a spectre
That blocks the white ceiling,
That blocks the blue sky,
That blocks the black hole;

And I look down,
From my black hole eye
That pierces the blue sky,
That pierces the white ceiling,
That pierces wide unseeing eyes
Of others who
Deaf to my cries
I now tongue-tie
With the noose
Around my neck.