empty set

The stars replaced with ceilings, the moon with some screen. I moved inside to to do my ailing, box up my affect and let the tears run loose. Now the sun is all but gone, and I have tagged along, fading into flesh and bone and isolation. Alone without the words, and now the night has come.

I am the waning moon, I am the empty set. Some string of words to trawl through the heart, some resonant fragment to express my lack. The words hold more, and so are less and less. Fungible and inconstant, while we mock the precision of the carcass. The flesh, bereft of our eloquence, contains our evidence. I am the path of steep declines. The mark of certain burden.

I am done beating the drum. There’s no gong for me to bang away on. No star I’ll follow, no flag I’ll fly. Still, the world will always be served. I’m one of millions all a stir from this kicked down hive. Less a choice than a direction. Less a leaf than the river run. Awake though only dreaming.