The coffee it must take
The cigarettes one must go through
The whiskey one must swallow
To interrupt the sluggish pacing
Of earth and one’s self and all spiraling the sun
Spinning out of control, controllably and patiently
Peeking out of little windows with its revolving
Black and bright and starry-eyed children
Pointing when planets peep out from behind cloud
When stars smile then burst to speckle the ground
Painting our heads with burning pellets of snow
When the sky separates like ripping paper
And out comes our futures in tiny plastic bubbles
Teasing over our heads at otherworldly paces
And gone into a distant fog, we’ll chase until we grow tired
The ground deforming into thousands of piano keys
And our toes will marvel at the sounds they make
When the notes they play change from C to G to A minor to B
Creating the songs that make the ancients come alive
Rethinking their theories of astrology and movement
When the world itself shifts without warning
Fissures that mimic the ripping up above
We were too busy hopping to our next key
To even notice our feet slipping
Our fleeting futures, our changing chords
The earth was ending, but we were all too lost
We are all too lost in the songs of misfortune

07/03/2010

Posted on 07/03/2010
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