Out of sight
and we fall a little further down.
Soles sinking, then shrill
wind sliding arterial, fabric swaying
the ground sweet tar below.
before us all, some sharper than others,
and the linens hang from the line, from the old metal spiderweb tree,
somehow I can remember
the sun on my skin,
tortoise, brown, mottled, pocked, an object, vivid, a life.
So much of that is lost now,
snippets, vignettes, fragments, sensations…
barely even those,
a daydream, or a fever.
I never wrote it down
I don’t remember when I learned to write
The past is eating my life
and that’s not even the end from which the fear oozes.
Ah! I said I wouldn’t be glum
discipline is not my strong suit
hearts not clubs
don’t talk to me about loss
I don’t have anything to say
just a grin,
and we fall a little further down
for sure it’s the valley of death
The skyline was beautiful on fire.