Afterfeel

An uncertain afterfeel Rolls inside and bides Like a tape recorder reel On the floor unwinds Meet your Lady Aftershock Be her truest slave Take her down to the docks For the random wave Slams the door, the draught bursts in Papers scatter to the sides Applications from the screen Texts with seals and signs There’s no memory to feed Files are kept alive Fictions growing fast like weeds Shuttering your life The damp wind keeps blowing on Through the dusty streets Shades of poplars hanging low Over the empty seats Lady Aftershock walks in Busy on the phone Wheel of fortune starts to spin Blues of Mr.Gone Lights go dim, the evening goes Like most evenings do Morning comes, the daylight glows But there’s nothing new.