short form

There was never a want for words, filling in the margins, making up for time. The far side of this elicited ache, the heavy haul of flesh grasping at the atmosphere, a glut of abstractions meant to justify all this breath and blood. Conversations caught mid cadence, my voice aloud elaborating my bias, sorting ghosts and ephemera. Would that I did, would that it were, these beasts of want and dream. Nothing but the wait for the space to say, the will to choose a way. The medium and the tools at hand having their way with the supply and demand.

There’s the light despite the fading sky, the blue as it is beset with gray, the sun still having its say. There is the throat of smoke and the wisps of the wind. The song as it moves along, music taking to the gutter, the singing clinging to the trees. It has come a long way to know the dull attentions of this much alone, where my limits slough into fragments, sound and sight and this kiss goodnight. You stroll across my mind, but do not settle. The gone suits you now that you’re gone for good.

Not that it amounts to much, once loosed into the language. Not that there’s much of a market for what I do, mouth the sacred shapes of fetishes, paw at gaudy baubles and greasy mementos muttering hyperbole and sacrilege into the night. The wait and the want, the all fall down. Down to the ache, down to the burn, hard bit by the never learn I trace these few scant words. Here at the high point as tomorrow comes barging in, the lowdown ever lower, just wished after kisses grabbing after the dusk. Just the words and the once were, and the never will again.