Meet me in the antecedents, let’s seal our fates together. Strangers save to the ancestors, I’ve seen it all go up in smoke. We hold down the conflagration, we hold hands as the bridge we built between us burns, we hold the line as the line is swallowed whole. We’re not much, but we’re all that’s left of few good turns at the tables. We’re not much, but we’re what there is to show for the last bunch of runs around the sun. Meet me in the after glow, the indulgence of harbored half-lives. Let us gutter on the altar, let us fall fast upon the ending well.
The clock is crawling towards midnight, the air full of estranged light and uncertain flesh. The insistent entity and the afflicted meat seated at the table of tomorrow, dissolving into dust and debt. The fleeting sovereigns and the shamble of the wounded animal. Here I come, with the songs on shuffle. There I go, scraping and scuffling through all these words and dirt. The freight train rattles through right on time, the storm I rode down due to make the rounds come morning. Another moment met with furtive fervor and deft intent, the attendant legions just waiting for a reason, just working on a rhyme.
Memory is the broken mirror I shave with in the shower. Time is just one thing after another. There is no place left here for persuasion. It is just the patter of the arriving rain as it wakes you. It is the sounds of the storm against your window in the night. I still taste your salt and smoke, kisses left clinging to the skin of my life. I still see the sunlight on your shoulders, the almost offering of your throat. There may be dreams left to dream, places to go and things to be. There may something left of the oath sealed with your lips. Maybe there will be a tomorrow— I haven’t seen one yet.
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