8.23.2012

wordsong

So many things
       trying to be words,

my smoke, your thoughts,
the thin line between
   being and existing,

undone feelings behind
unfinished walls
moonlight glistening off their
silver facade as silent
stars trace words
in the midnight sky.

Whish whooshing drone song of
the passing car, thud-thud, thud-thud
as it passes over
        crosswalk lines.

The gradual increasing tone
of the drone as it approaches
    and leaves.

Ssssssssccchhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew,


as no sound breaks the
quiet fog,
     
     where
   wet cement absorbs
          footsteps
    and your breath
      gets lost,
  lights flicker and fray,
     words become
        useless,
where the wind moves
and the fog's still.

Trying to become aware of my
  body, being slowly swallowed
as nighttime's scab,
  inconspicuous and itchy
       and lonely

waiting to be picked off and
 thrown out.

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