heart strings sing staccato
as anxiety rides up into me
jockyed by
heat waves and fever shocks.
Ultimately the future cannot be so
pressing as to be riddled with such
inadequacies?
My own silence is
settled yet surprising. . . . . . . Have I nothing to say?
My mind's mouth is
sutured by waves of
external emotions as it becomes merely
the observer.
Martyrd by my own mystery
Left to decompose and desintegrate
Time-lapsed
Rot retreats to
Reorient into Reality.
Dreams transmutate to dispel the
horrifying bite of brass tacks.
You are, for me,
elevation and humility.
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