Irregular breathing, rapid dilation and hyper
inflation, tension and past tense false pretense,
ghosting through an empty station on the last carriage
stewing rotting reeking speaking
spitting away that awful taste of today,
thinking and languishing in liquid language
and drowning like an illiterate rat.
What we don’t know
won’t hurt us,
what we do know
won’t save us.
So I’m plugged into this wall
crawling close-circuit skin,
face wired to the wordless window,
burning snow-blind field of unwritten lines…
And I’m considering
the perfect equation,
you and those blue screen eyes,
tactical evaluation and machine-gun mind
and ever defining
a collection of bootstrapped facts.
What dread siren wails outside?
In what throat
does that dire sound reside?
There is no time!