what space pinned wings
sent sleep screens spinning
through the steam
how many screws fastened
your face to the wall,
you wonder. The mirror's verso
vital as its front
flakes of rust from brittle springs.
a nail stands on its head. a plank spins
before clattering down the stairs
sunrise slips in behind you
knocks softly
as the pane erases your face
with borrowed shine
what centipede scuttles
into its hole in the clock
and ticks off the minutes
Until you scream yourself awake
Rise again, paranoid wanderer
Twitch into your clothes, shove your feet into
your pockets and join us as we perform
our squeeze-dried symphony.
For we are the riders of the gone,
the forlorn saboteurs who somersault
across the dusty plains.
We are the lizard brains who calibrate the oddson winning that final round of Match Game.
We abandoned our aquarium birthplace
to flip high lonesome windsock homesteads
in the highlands, sod houses in the lowlands,
splintered barns across the frozen headboards.
We record the searching sounds you make,
each scratch, each screech,
each scrape.
We will teach you to join us
as we sing every note on the Richter scale
with a voice like the skin of an eggand stuff every crack with our psalm.
No comments:
Post a Comment