it seems like unreason
some buckled treason
that hangs in the chest
moving like a liquid shape
and closing the fist
what do we hold
but an imagined fullness
that is an emptiness?
who wants to be a burning flag?
who wants to be a hashtag?
these poems of the temporary world
the despair we feel as we regard
Ozymandias broken and scarred
trying to look proud
these things we will not say out loud
we are fighting against the shadows of ourselves
cast in the foundry of our own lit hearts
into the drunkenness where we are blind to our reflections
dipping dry sticks in milk
there will be no fire starting
we rub these broken limbs together
we try to break others down
besmirch the architecture
say: these are not bricks
this is not a building
but the breath is curtailed
standing in the lobby
judging the whole blueprint
ants decrying the implacable wall
i have a tongue that revolts
beds into silence and steeps
above a heart that succeeds
but there is a penitent pennant
fluttering like a guttering shadow
pinned to a waning waxy pinnacle
i know something is skewered in me
skewed by an approaching timidity
fear given another name and dressed in petals
the deadly nightshade
believes itself a rose
dark orbs staring
this is a foreign country
and i speak a different language
though it echoes and can be mistaken for
do you worry?
do you hurry?
do you tarry?
do you wonder where your steps falter?
this spiraling stairwell
at the halfway mark
the pole, the spine
and i say nothing