after When I Was Done Dying
If you could feel the crush and compress it to a now, in to something to use later, something that could smile-scowl. Maybe it could be enjoyed waking up from long sleep, from a tired that went light years instead of some weeks. Then you'd be on the trail of snakeoil's noise if you held up the bottle and rattled it near the ears. The quietest of songs is what you would hear.
And if the emptiness of space could express its vast grace in two word songs that would make the leaves shake as though time took a joy ride through the afternoon sky in the two months that chase after the bully lightning stroked Julys we would all be able to sing in leaf showers every time the moon skated across the other side of the night's sky. The thing is,
why do I have to know so much about where am I going, the breeze said as much, with one touch of grass blade with my shirt off I stayed on the ground to be closer to the nuclear core of all atoms shoved in and each wanting more than the wells could give and they burned themselves out to wait quietly for the sun to amount to something less than a beautiful none to instead
keep on churning in an interpretive dance for no one. While laying in the yard and counting up the ways you have impacted me through my every numbered days, breathing out every hour and just only once, in a field of lightning bolts I don't care so much, tearing up and lips spread to show my timeless teeth, I felt the ground beneath me begin to heave.
I turn to my stomach to tell me the plan and as the ground gave way I made no designs to land, if the core and its bones and its million degree heat could eject me to the stars I will grip its seat and sink into the blades between the fingers of my hands until the sky turned dark and the air thinned to nothing, shot out like the spatter of rain before a gale in a storm.
The room is very quiet. I started to stand and instead decided to sit and listen to one more song from my band. The piece of glass I picked from the carpet last week is still on my desk, I am still in my seat. What I wanted was a rainbow thick enough to not deny and what I force my eyes to makes me wish I could die. Every single day ticks and tears at my "why"s.
So we get up and hate the routes about which we have been made. We accept that we are and we keep through these ways. The moon surely dawns and the sun is okay. The clouds race along and the leaves do wind sway. The ground remains warm and continues to drive. It speaks but can't answer to why I'm still alive. I reach the next door and I spit toward the floor, it lands on my foot and I shrug and I sigh. One day physics will crack apart and on that day we might die.
Sometimes I wish I didn't know so much. Too much of everything and never ever really enough. From the stars to the sand, it's all a matter of math. What I don't know I do know cannot nearly be the half. The unseen world continues to breath as I slink off swiftly to snail crawling dream sleep.
Every secret I wish can be found.
Their edges, I don't see them. I, eyelids
fall steady,
I hear only their sound.
