beating at the air

[joneshead]

addressed by confluence
fretfully weaned
from the hope
of a vision
to what is actually seen

dreams give in to repeating the day
From shorelines to eyelids
from holster to myelin
a bothersome filing of memory to arrival

garments of hours
rooftops of years
the space above silence
still swinging at the air
and beating at the breeze
is space to grow wings
pressure to impress
but no roots to find wreaths