the script

It starts in the shadow thick hollows, these excavations to your nature where conversations built the station where these longings wait at bay, the depths touched most at the drop of dusk. The sky trends dark and falls down, this breathless crush to extinction, a story that holds its promise as cliffhangers and prophecy. A dimming square between the shoulders, a burden upon the revelation blood, the Sisyphean weight of each unyielding day. A dull light to reprove or remind the distance that is left behind. A squalor of untended thought and lurid alarm loosed with the wanderers and stars. The sort of words written to drip off the tongue, the words written to drizzle down the script.

It plays out in slow smoke and drowsy light, the clock kept in the sight line as the texts turn over, the aches left to the remainder biding time in the long lean. The day turns over with the shifting mass of self and the complaints of bed springs and beset bones, the dreams that drone on still and those that only flash arcane error messages as their files remain unrecovered.   Found images appearing in the curtains and the ceiling, rats scratching in the walls, a name remains unspoken. Some theme song is playing again, the show always going on. The day and night with no dream in sight.

So far, so long, the tension of a sentence, the press of the pen. Too late you learn that you’re the story’s ghost, unreliable around sharp turns and blind spots, this compass spun and spun. A few ripples upon a primal surface long ago gone still and blank, the lonely face of the moon bathing in the mirror black sea. Left to the memories of broken branches, crown shy and storm sculpted, the past tense so insistent. Whole plots and speeches stricken, a gathered absence flashing teeth, a figure in the distance as the credits roll. All out of context persisting in the vision always waiting witness, the vinyl scratching out a past plus pops and sizzles, a skip like a struck match as if you were singing soft and close. There as the almost lingers, sinking as the absence steals the day.