I used to start talking at the top and work
my way down.
I find my self in the middle now and the talk is aimed
at me and the differences I can't make.
If I sit shirtless long enough my thoughts become
disjointed and I can't think of another line.
At least I'm not overly warm.
-----
Candle light trickles down through the crack in the floor and my face pressed to the slim space between the joists and the cross braces catches the scent of cat pee and a dankness like the rats of the bloody flux running between my feet.
This is not a place where I should stand, but here I am.
A hushed darkness false with the promise of dawn erupts in a chorus of water droplets hitting the rubber rooftop and leaking down towards the cement pond. where the green duck weed grows and channels itself into an umber deity of greater older world, beneath and across from the senses we thought we failed, but bailed on instead.
-------
If I drink to starlight and starlight drinks to me can I starlight be?
What if I'm already starlight, sterilized and striate drifting in an empty dream?
Would the color of a dawn wanderer wonder if I were reeling in the evening of my dusk?
-----
The musk of million years instrumental movie moves makes most moderate mention of Manassas but none of Bull Run. Interprets what yous cans from that. Mayhap methinks my time has come to drink the dream and sign the seem. To glint my eye at another prize, seek the lost of the humors and the last of the luminaries of last week weakening the hold steady beat of time and this heart of mine.
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