I stand swaying,
cymbals crashing betwixt my ears
smashing into nothing,
atomizing silence.
As I stand dead-in-the-eyes and slowly cracking
and my body collapses into paperdust and coffee bones,
I can feel my mind leaking.
Hard as I try, I haven't the fingers
to overpower this entropic exploration.
A shadow slithers accusingly up the moonlit page
as busking crickets resuscitate the landscape
and I shake myself to clarity, shiver the machine to life.
With my aluminum lungs and pewter heart
I'll go swimming in your slipstream
in a mist of safety glass,
a fog of shattered taillights and adrenaline.
Racing, racing, cogs and flywheels burning,
never consuming quickly enough to catch your tragedy.
Always, I'm one revolution belated:
just close enough to pick up the pieces,
never far enough to rebuild.
No comments:
Post a Comment