Why do I stand,
stay?
Why not with whims
blow away?
Dissolved resolve
scattered like dust.
The rust grows,
pushing,
tilting,
slipping,
making many messes for maids to mull;
sucked away before inspected,
invested gators,
twisting traitors.
Teeth of a warm
menacing my skin.
The ache of a brake
deeper presses in.
Statistics gauge the revolt
accounting casually the casualties
like lifeless hope:
‘One here, one there . . .
No, he is gone.
Move along.’
Pale as pastels,
chalk another for reason
without conclusion,
logical confusion.
Desperate streams
sharing the razor road
rending the accident
a hypothetical code.
‘Ride out to see,
yes with only me,
what we could be!’
Potential diseased,
frightened to displease.
Plead with the wall,
willing its fall
to draw the curtain
full.
Hide the stage,
feel the sage
sure as steel.
‘Score, score and four.’
The star has ceased,
felt like a crease.
In time, when time
gives up.
The steps were kept
as we stood,
one beside the next,
existing.
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