Grdfthr clk

A person becomes changed
whenever they are run like a horse on the track.

Their silence becomes static and obscure.
It is still and surely
time is still out there
frozen.

The whole gang of dangling keys are
hanging out in mono sound
spending too many days working
on becoming a work of fiction
instead of actual creation.

With down character eyes
saying "I was born this way."

When I fall
my heavens will come down...
but not yours.

Certain circles do not spiral inwards.
The sticker on the bike reads:
"Nobody Dies All The Way Alone."

We are merely bicycle wheels with transparent spokes.

We are
connected to and removed
from
one scary burning sun.

If you yell inside of here,
it is going to be so loud
that all of the miserable tyrants
and heroes of history
will awake and undoubtedly curse your name.

Just like the grdfthr clk of God
declaring midnight in a strange world.

So if you can be quiet
please stay with me for a while.

There is plenty of sitting room on the dream train
with its seizure cars running reckless
through my withering vein tracks.

I am trying to have a dialogue with my own head,
but instead,
I accidentally eavesdrop in
on a phone call to a fax machine.

A person re-arranges their consciousness
when they are run into the ground
by this
awful,
confused,
cloudy,
cloudiness.