The day is just like that, the crush of dawn, the bird revival. The day is just that way, nothing to gain, nothing to swear. Morning comes to everyone that’s still around to lump it. The day just wastes the time away, the stretch of the sky, the ache of the earth. One dizzy rush to the next, ecstasy and perdition and all the bandwidths in between and out beyond. The foundation to the firmament plus all the fixings and untold munitions. The ache unto, the ache undone, the habit of the aperture. The fixed pin and the dance of shadows.
There’s little comfort down here in the flesh and bone. There’s no way to sate the shades, entangled in the never never. The ghosts stick to your ribs, the ghosts rattle around in your head. The ruin of every realm at once, the rudder of the belly, the rumbling of the guts. Sweets and meats and pretty frippery, all the hell you can hold. The words can go either way. They can rush to the rescue, or they can leave you at the moment you need them the most. They are the wings as the follow the wind. Just ask the sky, see how long the answer lasts.
I’m a prison of my own design, built of goldbricks and thermodynamics, the consequences of all this undue ordinance. I’m a one-off that would’ve been better as a one less. Every death littered hill, every sticking point held until it bled out, every coin toss called wrong. I learned from the wrong parts, the gallows punchlines, the forgotten technologies found sleeping in the soil. Left with the seepage of the civilization, the words and the debris, always somehow wandering a wilderness. The day that comes no matter how hard the night tries. The blood and the breathing, the blind spot that is always in my skin.
