Bitter Medicine
Golden Lungs breathe in the light.
Fumes, and doom singe the open air streams death contagions disintegrate.
Pomegranate embraces the sense that walks in the light along the fences we climbed.
I wish I could keep this feeling pirouetting in the palms of my hands.
Fears cower in hunger of endless biting never able to sever the tissue.
This isn't how we are made up to be.
Vocal ideas ferment in the vat overflown, and laid to rest forgotten as cruel men are raised, and went.
Knees, elbows, and the contours of our frame walk into wilderness.
They could never find me, or let me leave.
From nightmares, to daycare, and extended absence.
Shame has long been perfected and complete.
The circles end, and the linear thoughts get up and start walking into long ranges.
Boundaries are discarded the edge of touchdowned dawn stretched across forgotten faces.
Obscurity, untouchable, included in the absentee ballots of conditions that produced us in lust, smoke, and grief.
Somewhere we were planned for.
The gentle frames painted out like alphabets on morning hung horizons.
Presence longed for in the cloudy afternoons where they recruited the best, and buried the rest in the wake of trash heaps that shower us in garbage.
Repurposed, Reselling us the same plastic we burn every night.
Igniting in our veins.
Pretending we forgot.
Pain always changes.
Standing on the edge of sonar, summer, and widening free.
Searching for the glimmers the son shines through.
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