All these voices ricocheting off the walls,
Rattling in my head like
Raindrops falling from tormented skies.
Behind my troubled eyes the silk machine
Keeps spinning thread
Like river weaves its way through mountains
On towards ocean. On
This Sunday afternoon the tribe
Refuses to relent the reign of
Resonance that leaks into my brain,
As all too lucid thoughts exhume themselves
Despite my will and juleps
"Sometimes my life seems like no more
Than one long night
Disjointed briefly by periods of daybreak,"
I thought much too loud,
As fellow kinsmen eyed me nervously.
I see I cease to see things
As they cease to be resplendent
Forfeiting both gleam and glimmer
In a somewhat tempered trade for truth.
Today’s been going on for much too long,
I thought as Friday bore down on
Its fifty-second hour
And fragments of night and day
Suspended in a stellar void
Collided in symphonic euphony
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