Every morning I drive
straight into the daylight because
because I’m looking for
what’s on the other side.
Every night I have a dream,
that I am sinking in a river,
underneath a bunch of bridges
I don’t recognize.

We make light dance for us now
when before we would circle
around a fire and dance for it.
It was a pit of something
not quite understood.

When you look at a playing card
from its edge it almost fades away.
Someone in the building
punches a metal door repeatedly
screaming for their money back
but the only thing they’re left with
is the silence.

We have to stop taking
serial numbers so seriously,
and get on with the festival
of never keeping track
of passing time.

It all started when the shadow
cut its sacred line across
the dying grass, right passed
the curtains of our shelter,
and the scythe blade
sunk in deeper than before.

A hornet’s nest made precariously
in between the horns
of a satyr statue, in some park,
in some small town,
no one is thinking of,
left abandoned by whatever
family settled there.
A dynasty of affliction
in their dwelling once
a cradle of destruction.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s