Saturday, February 20, 2010

"The Rising"

years of insomnia
then sleep deprived years
my fingers worn thin
from counting sheep

don't you speed up just
to clear my way

making the time rhyme

that boiling sound
when i come to a stop

sixsix sigma
ballpoint pen tracheotomy
glasses lens that pops out
as i'm cleaning them

the light darkness lifts in the warehouse rows
and concrete emptiness gains sound
from the nearby freeway · so i close
my eyes upon an endless round

of car repairs · defunctive music
chimes with a world at "midnight" poised
and wrath-filled · they don't abuse it
by cataclysm unsurprised

i wend thread my way through down the broken roads
what should i hope to save hold at last
but having loved what time lime corrodes
& having watched it slow or fast & watched a wasteland grow more vast

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