My Heart Is A Fist Thrumming In Air

My heart is a fist


She leaned into death like a consolation




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?




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 my 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


Thrumming in air

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