Siren Songs Ringing Like All the World’s Telephones Singing

The notes might be from a familiar score
but this is not at all the song I know
each sound grates in a unique new way
I have never felt before
this excess of compression
or expanding, violent isolation
stark terror and tremendous potential
for perpetual petulance
and depraved emotionless decadence.

A dull midnight highway, punching a bass-line
with aching hands restless from hours at the wheel
plunging heedless, needless through torrential despair
slicing through dredges of pooling thought
casting shards as another mirror shatters
staccato rhythm drummed by the deluge
headlights barely cut through the falling skies
and there is nothingness on my mind.

Reflections green in the dashboard glow
lost in contemplation of the years of blight
obscure visions visited upon
a drifter, an uninspired figure
hunched forward in his chair
travelling too fast and not getting
anywhere.

Backwards and upside down tunes rumbling
crumbling walls like brass trumpets wailing
flailing and choking for all the high notes
a tattered scattered shredded semblance
coming together and departing forever
losing everything and recalling again
that rising arpeggio, those sacred chords
that once could summon moments of clarity
and pierce the rain like a fiery ray
a solar-born flare of total sanity
striking and short wiring in a flash
blind whiteness in the dark of night
as a piece of heaven slowly burns
only to explode in the upper atmosphere.

Only so much space exists between these
thoughtless actions and automated reactions
to savor truths and taste the failure
recalling victories won with blunted sabres
pitching and rolling amidst the waves
lost, rudderless and nonetheless
weaving through every storm and rotten squall
wavering in uncertainty on the edge of the world.

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