It starts with one thing
Then the echoing--the feedback loop begins
The clock hand cuts within
My eardrums hum hard, it's
Lightening-arc-cracked-gla**-cardiac-arresting-
Endemic-post-traumatic-digging-up-the-dead...
Every sharpened knife dulling in my head
Or:
The here-and-now is there-and-then
That road that "her"--that hopeful end…
That record on repeat
Only plays the first week;
It skips and starts again
Each time more unaware of how it ends
It skips… and then… again...
That "Nothing real" meant the whole world to me
Skin and bone like a tome; I wrote it all on you
R ng i o te t w t e n ed
…now the line is too blurred to interpret it
I'll still go their night to night, a gypsy moth to lamp-lit-limerence
Lit late June in Illinois
I'll meet you late…I'll meet you too late…
Once more round the lake, to take in that desperate haze
Maze-manic-hang-to-what-was-felt-not-what-it-was
It will pa** me like a fever...
but it skips…
and then...
again…
That record on repeat… the first week -the rode -the heat
…it skips I'm back again
-in every skip a gulf do rend
In echo-send …
And all at once -once more post-sure-postwar;
* * *
Too quick to quench -the iron tore
So let us melt down and back to ore!
* * *
Why'd you come here in thrill of night, under satellite?!
I never noticed them before?