Coasters

Past the point of good ramblings,
ice tumbling into

background headaches,

And an ability to take advantage 

Of anything, we slip through the things

before or as they happen,
Either way

in the slowest mile, quantitatively

Waiting to ignore

What is nothing

But devastation

And the feeling of knots

That could be holds to climb on

Or whatever it is that is left of our guts.  

rip and p, p

Charts and graphs and songs and the heart
Are all a flat line.
You could say there's work we have to do,
But that would be a lie.
There's no such thing as compulsion
When we're out of time.
But if that's just a construct anyways
We might as well all be a sign.

Working Title

Everything is harsh in this city

Of all chill, blue 

As if a series of photographs 

Were being taken 

With each look 

That we try to tend

On each other.  

You'll see me and think
to yourself
I'm purring 

I should keep this going 

My eyes are holding yours 

Recording nothing but 

Though the well in my chest is full

With the weight years brought before
And now my brother is not well 

This will not last 

So I am to continue 

With my winter of plans.

My eyes for you held different views
Beyond the need for ease
And had already sunk down
To the uncurious
But peculiar state of
Cohesion.  How I was so very ready
For you to arrive.