The day is bright, the light relentless and starved of reflective flesh. So the day rises, so the sun spills, hungry dust and flesh beaded in sweat and heat. The crows vocalize in some other sky, while flies warm themselves on your every limb. The music tumbles beneath the surface, delving into the dark corners and sticky shadows of your restless mind. All the words, all the wings, still nothing is held aloft by this relentless tide. Each way, each wish, arrives already buried, all hope stolen or murdered before your eyes. Like you, the light is there to be lost.
The wings sweep the sky, the shadows stick and swell. The heat sinks into your flesh, and you steam and pool and glisten. Your face a painted mask of dust and sweat. All this effort for the ache in every bone. All this effort for this heart that blurts and sputters. You work at it, this aimless pantomime of sacrifice. You work hard to hold fast to all this empty.
Cry for all your waste and wander. Weep for the tireless pace of all this blood. Stay the night with your prayers and spells of rote convenience. Follow the vein to the troubled source. All these hopes for love and comfort movies playing in an abandoned theater. You jostle the crowds of skin and bones that there might be a path to follow. Your thoughts clotted with shards and rust, you wipe away the maps and prizes. Your mouth full of promises no-one cares if you keep, the day burns down around you.
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