I am uneasy,
uneasy, uneasy.
Overwrought, synonymous.
My handsa re clammy.
My head is spinning
like a ballet dancer
in an unending act
still spinning and spinning
my spindly feet en pointe.
The note in octaves hammering
trembling lights, thundering lows.
Repeat, on loop, staggering
still spinning.
Cab, bus, black car, red truck,
buses, cars,
cabs,
trucks.
Lights. Signal lights.
The train.
Buses and cars.
Trucks and cabs.
A motorcycle.
Green. Orange. Red.
Green. Yellow. Red.
Stop. 60 seconds. Bottleneck.
Heavy traffic.
The isolation is home
where voices are the fortress,
high and unequivocal.
The Eyes are witnesses
and to peruse their only object.
Hidden in recluse
borders the intermittent
a wont — to escape.
A soul fleeting against the wind
billowing graceless and out!
to return by eve
home and fortress.
It’s irrelevant when you do what you do.
I’m awake in the next room
writing, believing
all you are is who I want.
Words crashing in twilight,
in this calculating cold I continue to write,
the sirens in the quiet streets below your window
jarring my thoughts, irrelevant.
I will come as you go, and go as you leave.
Brushing against you going past
my mind is racing incomprehensible speeds
to figure out half your thoughts
all your recklessness.
The lights flicker
a wonder the moon has not set.
Strangle the Strange 