reypulque

the golden mean

Light bends, time crawls, the sky is held together with wires strung above the freeway, stretching past sight. Miles of metal creep and stall, creep and stall. Gaps open between vehicles, whole worlds gape and yawn. Another driver fills the difference. Diesel fumes and brake-lights abound. Traffic pauses because everyone only wishes to get ahead.

I am made of mistaken measures, of cautions crossed with liberties, of stench and a glimmer of dumb hope. The days push and lean, buffeting the words about. I lull beneath the tower made of haunted children and aimless violence. The skin I wear bears the mark of the dupe, the tension of the uninvited clown. The brutal endures, the nights blur and burn. Ashes everywhere left to breathe.

Too many cars and too many hours. Too much wear and never enough rest. The scars map these rough dismissals, the time machine of the never resting mind. Once was seems to be forever, captured in just the right light. Once was is a promise of what possibility allows. A head turns away from the glare of the sun. A face framed in distance, unbearably beautiful. The brake-lights fade and the beauty is lost. Some small portion, hidden in the folds of this feeling. Some stifled burden, blooming as it dies.