We move along among the skies, waning from wound to wound. The earth shows in stone and bloom, the night goes full on moon. The catch in your voice, the rudiments that fail the truth, the world from end to end and turn by turn leaving behind these overwrought ruins. The madness catches like a fire, it spreads through these unhinged hearts and microwave emissions. The game of telephone in transition, while wood and aluminum continue to teach the merits of the flesh. Scuff and scrape, glue and tape, splinters and gravel as it all unravels around.
It is the nature of the beast, the dust to dust volition. The ramparts all in disrepair, the damage suggests the fixing. The dream of needles pulled from feet, the tetanus cuts come running. It’s the repertoire of accidents to go wide for the collateral. A kid picks the wrong angle on a motorcycle, I’m suddenly on the job. Shifting the debris, disassembling the wreckage, while the
labor keeps time in blood and bone. Moving from pile to pile, putting a crowbar to my departed father’s work as the day and the deed double team my gumption. Taking my resolve out in flesh and pain, the world wins again and again.
There’s more to do that is yet undone, more undoing to get to before construction can begin. I am already a tattered banner, litter slapped around by the wind. It isn’t only the demolition, but the demolition is by far the worst of it, wrong man with the wrong tools what could go wrong. Another one more thing, a question from Columbo, a date on the farewell tour. It’s not the sort of thing I had in mind with my endless asking for more. More grave than gravy, and the chains keep on coming. From stunt work to stagecraft like I was even in the union. Each day taken to task, each day a little worse for wear. Hoping for the curtain as the whole thing comes down.
