busted

It’s a rookie mistake always relearned hard, always work the wound. Nature will, like any adversary, teach every tooth out of your head. It’s not so much the beatings but the slow of the healing, the busted knuckle bloodied again and again. It gets tough when you’re down to earth and never caught the habit of bandages. You forget that pain, like fear, is in its natural skin a warning. So we play too tough to say when and live to gutless to admit we’re scared. So we go straight at it and take it on the chin.

The day exchanged, the night all bargains, full of plots and plaintive wails. From the tower of the crescent moon to the lots abandoned to drift and drudge, the stars stir and the planets wander. Pain in exchange for placement, wear and tear for a daily wage, it is always the animal at last. Pelted with rocks and false promises, caught in the wake of the worshipped false gods, we wither and we strive. It cost so much just to survive. 

Back to the embodied, the blood and bone in broad strokes, the defects adding up. The elusive satiety, the built on appetites with the postproduction enhancements. Somehow settled on the signal, rapt in the static, touching every nerve. Vague attractions and habitual patterns, the circle and the star. You wake up, neither here nor there, wherever the day may take. You fill in the blanks and take your shape.