I’ve walked beyond the creaking discords of ghosted jamborees, beyond the schoolyard swings… they are still singing in the shadows in the rustiest blue metallic twang. In the playground’s farthest corner, there is a shade without a name, who builds himself from clay towards Plato’s primary sun. I analyze the geometry of non-Euclidean trees, study the binaural scratch of dangling leaves… the cows come for the slaughter. It is time to leave again. The wind blows kyries. My neck tilts on the bone. I catch all light as it flares like a projectile and find my face fallen behind a scrap of sun. How long has earth been dead? The poverty fills the space between my breaths to inhuman depths. The sound is wrong, your hands on masterfade. Retune the breeze and cue the scene: The porchlight, the door latch, the breaking glass. A century later nothing’s changed. No one ever leaves tonight.
Posted on: Sat, 18 Oct 2014 01:23:47 +0000
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