It’s all about the ashes falling all at once. It’s all about the pavement changing color as the rain ensues. The cracked tooth static fuzzing up the embouchure, the fucked lungs, and the glacial rate of change meaning something different as the glaciers come thundering into the sea. Gray days and the goodbye sun soft and golden where the sun gets through, until it’s up and gone. Then it’s murdered birds and silhouette branches and the harbinger dusk taking things away, the night taking its sweet time climbing its throne.
The night arrives and the street is strewn with latent constellations, blinking lights and plastic facets offered up for whichever holiday will do. Branches reach like cracks running from some windshield impact, the absent piece of chucked steel or thrown stone inferred by their origin point, this dark and looming hole beyond the reach of word or root. The dark swells like movie music, always acting like something’s about to happen. Like the answer must be close with all these questions all about.
There is a rhythm to this witness , a broken rhyme to this report, the sound of cracked ice and broken limbs. The day goes, the night comes, I miss I ache I wonder. A few gewgaws, a few threadbare incidentals, the exit line or its disturbing lack. A little smoke, a little blood, a thousand shouldered burdens. Now it is the beating of helicopter blades, the gunshot punctuation, and the invective of strained machines. A song that goes off when a letter is reread, a name written and rewritten as yours is erased. It’s all about the blanks and what they’re asking.