soiled

Tomorow truncated
Living segment to segment,
A road trip counting mile markers, peering past lines blue, lines red
Counting trainloads of graffitti rolling by
Clacking
Swaying this and that, lullaby of the rails
Though we dare not
To sleep

Gathered the largest, swept together the others, held together
a large silvery ball, sticky duct tape
Kicked far and away then it too is all gone
Nothing left but suicide
but first to shear those seven rams
I wanted tonight to be different, but this place isn't us
Not that we're planning any funerals
just going out for another roll

Dancing here on cliffs edge almost guarantees we fall
There are no spontaneous energies, only hard fought thoughts quick to slip from conscious and being. I care not to Run after - there is no point. I am told to embrace all of it -- downs and ins and disappointments and not and expectations shattered and life's despair bad and good and death hopes
But we know in the next step is no
promise, no urgency, no reason
The air we breathe I cannot feel, but all around me it I see
Who are you to see these things I feel?
To feel the things I think I see?
A twinge of recognition, like deja vu, not even.
Even if I told it with outloud language then even not,
you wouldn't know me not if you could, not wanting can be strong
Like you. I am even though not to you
No, I don't
want to dance
you didn't have to ask
Pretend
I already know.

In the end
Thoughts flutter like bats from the bridge
Dark beginnings. Brighter ends.

Pausing fiercely then to repopulate
Floating in the fray, sea foam populated
but there is nobody here
Digging a hole to the sun
Leaving the other's grave in the attic
Maybe for another day to fill with hymns and prayers
Letting loose the rabbit to howl
To run
To run and howl one more day
Til we all fall down