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