My heart is a fist
She leaned into death like a consolation
Bored
But not tired
That was the problem
Would that I could show you how to live anew
But I lean also
Ready to be shattered by something I could never otherwise touch
Is it cowardice?
Beauty?
All of these and more and I sit listening, uncertain
Out of tune
But finding a kind of deranged harmony that speaks in the quiet moments of this era
And too in the loud sweat-stricken
No pure materialism can ever take me from here
Unless I don’t come back
Sandalphon’s eyes
Watch us from the shadows and we have naught but fear and jest, basslines
Thrumming in air