I wouldn’t say imagination,
instead, a spiral of twisting metal,
cracked concrete well below,
the shavings of slivers and dust where the legs go.
A night sky that looms in sunlight,
to the degree of a natural flight,
over here, this time, that afternoon, one year
in my life.
I sometimes want to cry,
cleanse the rings of deceit around my eyes,
then it’ll be okay.
Though that song plays out its course,
like a top 40
I tire of hoping for predictability
shed some light on
what the hell is the matter with me.
is an opportunity,
if we can remove ourselves from
I remember the time I was told to stop boring people
with sad old cliches.
I no longer use cliches.
I wonder about tomorrow
as fatigue melts away my desire to go away.