after Such Great Heights
I cried myself to sleep
until my sockets freed
themselves from the meat cage they stowawayed.
You, out there on the road
telling yourself it's all a lie
will hear the shrillest highs and lowest lows
when this song haunts you at the doorstep of your home.
That, frankly, will not fly.
Use a wrist to dry your eye.
The one that still has skin that has not been able to regrow.
Somewhere in the grass
where you lay your spine to rest
where you check the pockets of your vest
to breath out and find your phone
while the fire pit you built cracks
and the stars above are the same
the moon exactly where you left.
The world, it did not die,
your howl did not spy
a new peak or tree line.
You know there is still no where for you to dine.
So watch
the fires from afar.
Dance while all of the tracers fly.
Wait for the ash to settle
and nudge the bodies that you find
before taking a bite
to survive.
