Screaming about the confines of yesterday, trapped and tangled in vines of repetition.
Seeing through spaces and that everything is the same
with leaves transparent and mundane.
Wings tethering like
of a book
caught in the wind
with dust lining on the spine.
The sand paper crumbling
and sounding like
on the fertilizer
The itching noise of clocks ticking
at dusk when you’re trying to milk your sleep.
And you fall in and out and you’re waiting
for the alarm to finally beep.
The grimy anticipation of time.
The teenagers growing too fast.
The children knowing too much.
Information becoming the past.
Dreaming about the limits of the future.
Weeping for an outlet that makes sense.
Screaming about the confines of yesterday.
Trapped and tangled again and again.
Reading to Drinkers and Drinking to Books -
The piece I read for this event last night can be found here.