Eighty-Six Thousand Four Hundred
Eighty-Six Thousand Four Hundred
Iye! Another day
And from the blink of sleep
From the cosset of sheets
The incessant alarm pulls my feet
Iye! Another day
And the sun has conveyed splintered shadows through the trees
To dapple my wits with the even darker
The broadside of purpose waking
Twenty-four hours for repeating
And strange it seems how beauty is lost
Not one single enterprise to change belief
The daily eating of my heart
Numb and chilled through emptiness
Iye! Another day
Born with a slit throat and choked deliverance
Hollow soul to hollow life
Witness to nothing but splintered moment
Silence
Desperate quiet unreachable silence
And so it seems this thin blood
This weak and paltry empathy for fate
This ritual of eighty-six thousand four hundred
Iye! Another day
For the isolation of movement to beckon
And batter its tide on my dreams
Only to transport another useless day
To its inevitable conclusion
I lay and shy with the predominant why
Why should I
For the courage and fortitude of ordinary people
Is but control to the denizens of the animal political
And my loneliness but a rumour to vacant ears
And in the eighty-six thousand four hundred
The speech of denial records that it has lost all faith in me
Iye! Another day
Another day to deserted hope
Another day of discarded love
Another day of futile intimacy
To pull me from my cocoon of sleep
And thirty one thousand five hundred and thirty six thousand
For us to keep
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