Siphon

In the sand again I feel it shifting.
The weight of one idea over another.
An outcome like a burnt tree
still standing in its ash encrusted
husk. A line of people sit
on a pier and wait for dusk
when it is obvious which side
we all belong to.

I don’t want you to understand
in fact I almost wish the opposite.
When they told me to put myself
into it I made the first incision
before they could stop me.
Bleeding everywhere like before
when I would hurt myself
with meaningless mistakes.
I see a woman standing in
the doorway.

She is holding something in her hand
that moves just like a heart,
but it isn’t one, you could tell just
by the color. I wish I could ask
her to leave but my leaking
cut absorbed my every word.
There are no absolute positions
just the back alley coordinates
of empty space we make special
with half truths so simply broken.

She takes the beating token
and embeds it in the place
I ripped apart so that I could forget it,
and just walk away.
There’s nothing in a lonely day
beyond the the purple lightning
in the jar I watch have surges
that melt the window ice,
but aside from that it can’t get very far.