epitome

Step away from the story. Back away from the day. Close your eyes without another thought about it. Rest your head as if you ever slept or dreamed. The word still moving over the water. All this smoke to show the fire. All this grief in leaps and bounds. The cross you carry is the one they stick you with. A hammer is a hammer, but it still means every nail.

I’m a broken record and a busted clock. The full moon slips in the window like it’s in a song. The house is slow and open to the night, the skipping of the needle, the weighing of the words. Gravity the only given. The heaviness comes bearing down, heaven cracks and grinds. The dog sighs deep, trash cans drag and bang. The street says something to itself and doesn’t meet my gaze.

There’s no quibbling with the numbers. There’s no accounting for taste. The heart wants its wants and carries all it can. The beauty a burden on every breath, the slipping singing out. Wishes made of grease and gristle, wishes the shade of moon on bone. Ten thousand lives all lived alone. Reaching like the sky towards stars, the peak broke horizon. The rising of the firmament, the furthering of the fall.