Some nights are like that, darker, quieter.
No specific reason unless it is the barometric pressure
conjuncture of Mars and Jupiter
cracks in the asphalt
no reason I can discern on a conscious level.
Just darker, quieter. Closer. Further away. Just is.
How can away be more or less away today than yesterday?
Tomorrow, final tomorrow is closer; fire that will be.
Breath on my neck, hovering, waiting to put its teeth around,
pull me into a future I won't fight.
I feel it, that future. Rough tongue wakes dormant cells,
scrapes away sleep, gangrene, plunging knives.
Arise you slumberers, arise.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment