Through the Water Through One Midnight

In a noxious night as I looked across the pier, something in my stare screamed and wept to empty air. What was it? Surfacing in that netherworld river? I was seeing something, finally I was seeing a veil of darkness lift and a golden dawn arise in another timeline where the superhuman I have achieved--where deceitful animation does not exist. Simply I say: your perfection blinded me. Ah, "perfection"! It's cruel to us both to call you perfection, Unfair, even, as to twain the ethereal unfit for this world. I will think of the gold, and I will think of King Midas, and how you defy him and have turned my spirit golden just by being, just by assaulting Fear with it's own medicine. I am chased here now Gravity and I are one through this mountain of mist I run downhill as incarnate disease whirls through loved carnations in every picture we're in and all the poison residue left by my aging sneakers that have been the eyes in the back of my head they stare; grant me utmost haste, this pair and I are bound from waste and I dare not turn to look and I dare dive blindly, I pray for a clearing and one Soul for hearing: "Summoned by ingsoc. Allow this dance across your balcony of darkness, ‘I love you’ wields smooth eccentricity settled at the bottom of the glass, to rise only when in the throes of anguish. I don’t understand—I fail to be better. Sinking ships in sinking dark sweaters she wears whether or not I tether this feather to my heart— give me Never." And yet the Anti-psalm plays: Outta bed, atta boy, Quenched every day. Withered like grass, Miss that sass, Deceitful heart dismay. And what can halt the falling sensation that embraces and stalks the faces and stops in the hierarchy of this fearsome foe we call The Human Mind that is designed to become hollow after a time of being told it will see hallow love, but never working to see the dove return with the olive branch builds a cold doll of the heart that speaks a language called Mockery and the sweet song I'd heard was merely the heartbreak of mockingbirds falling into fate. As I stood up from my Fall, you became the mist that passes over this selfish, loveless city at 4 AM. I perceived you as a specter, then reality, then dear, and now, dream clouds that slowly reshape slowly disappear... clouds that smile and say they say they say... "Time to get up."