Tolling Mercy

Shards of distress pierce me when probing memories for      purpose in mournful deeds; stingy cords dangle from teetering curtain rods,      begging me to pull. Macaroni starch drips into the sink in slow drips, marching      along with pattering pings in the tin basin, making my yellow eyeball quiver in      gelatinous custard. Somewhere within pools the glint of creation in devastation:      equals of bombast never sharing purpose. Blistery palms press on my shoulder,      propelling me on, past acres of debris and superstitious domiciles hiding      friends long spent in selfish conquest, distorted in the glow of giant, dancing screens of      worthless, dazzling light, over valleys carved into once lush marshland punctuated with      sporadic honks and chirps until overpowered by the mechanical roar of turbines whirling in steel      safety cabinets locked, into gothic structures etched with archaic icons, taunting with brash      esoteric energies until my mind surrenders logic, divergent timelines and mortality to kneel,      washed by absolution.