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.
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