Out of sight

zuhandenheit

and we fall a little further down.

Soles sinking, then shrill

wind sliding arterial, fabric swaying

strung up

the ground sweet tar below.

that throng

tumbling

before us all, some sharper than others,

some darker

and the linens hang from the line, from the old metal spiderweb tree,

somehow I can remember

the sun on my skin,

a pond,

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

at all.

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

So what?

The skyline was beautiful on fire.