For the long line waiting, for the color of skin mingled with shadows, for all the best I have wasted and all the bitter others have swallowed I wish just a little. I lean against the softening wall with my hard and tender head and pray for mass. I breath in whispers of my last tainted breath and lay my pallid faith square in the lap of matter. Everything so much empty space, and all these bandwidths and distractions just forces woven tight enough for us to feel their gaps, halos painted from Rutherford-Bohr model atoms, auras cast in the broad and invisible bulk of the spectrum. Trusts and hopes concave and convex, while I hold mostly still, perplexed by this hint of complexity, the conception and the exhaustion of all these lapsed possibilities.
This lack built of fading memories and failing reach, this dry clutch, this bare air. How long will the stars fade and expire in the kingdom of our eyes? How long will we spin and chirp in this dervish grin? The lost, last kisses pressed like bible flowers, fragile and hollow and precious with the tension of all things saved. I lean into the bold blue and the white heat, the songs I sing without knowing them, the music birthed of being and thinking all at once. Thoughts slow, wishes still, and words stop their campaigns so abruptly, we think they were never there at all. I can not separate the want from the absence, the song from the singing. Everything just poems and appetites, and countries I will never know. Everything light remembered after dark.
This lack built of fading memories and failing reach, this dry clutch, this bare air. How long will the stars fade and expire in the kingdom of our eyes? How long will we spin and chirp in this dervish grin? The lost, last kisses pressed like bible flowers, fragile and hollow and precious with the tension of all things saved. I lean into the bold blue and the white heat, the songs I sing without knowing them, the music birthed of being and thinking all at once. Thoughts slow, wishes still, and words stop their campaigns so abruptly, we think they were never there at all. I can not separate the want from the absence, the song from the singing. Everything just poems and appetites, and countries I will never know. Everything light remembered after dark.