black holes and rubber bands

slow moving nights
pull stories from the sky

from behind your eyes
like wondering if we’ll be pulled over

for that broken taillight
on the short drive home

we piece syllables together
one by one

but from a distance
the word elusive, the design

the absent phenome of a de-categorised world
catching your tongue

* * *

slow moving nights
pull stories from the sky

I tell you my greatest fear
is the existential pull

of an event horizon from which
even light cannot escape

you tell me yours is more the everyday
layers of experience pulled tight

around each other like a bundle
of rubber bands

or a man’s footstep too close behind you
on the street

* * *

slow moving nights
pull stories from the sky

and we piece syllables together
from a distance

like the stars we see
as though a canopy of interwoven light

echoes of suns
the meaning of things

stretched to breaking
ghosts of galaxies

a billion years between
each one

This is a reprint of work originally published in A Synonym for Sobriety.

Ben Adams is a writer from Adelaide, South Australia, who has studied literature and history, clerked at video stores and petrol stations, been paid to wrangle cash at beer-soaked music festivals, and worked in academia. Many of his poems have found publication both online and in print over the last decade. His first complete collection of poetry, A Synonym for Sobriety, won the Single Poet series award from Friendly Street Poets and was published in 2019. Find him on Instagram (@bts.adams) or Twitter (@badbadams) and, finally, on Facebook at

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