everyday and everynight
She spoke with what looked to the unnassuming layman to be a string of clever conversation.
She looks concerned, yet ignores each man standing on his own anyway.
There's waiting, no witty retort to upend her sincere attempts, and yet she just as easily relys
upon her burnt bulb, doe eyes.
People are waiting in line, like robots chiming in with the proper noises and bleeps in an assembly line of constant static, like fitting a cog to an achingly bare piston.
Like fitting wreaths of vitory upon the gentle temples of each contender's crown, sloping down to offset one eye. It rolls around, rests on me, then continues on in its hungry and lifeless path to find something similar to itself. One eye blocked out, a multitude of replacements swirl around like an olive idling in a blank martini.
Somehow i just slip in between these little cracks, lean far enough back to blow smoke rings and frame a scene of debate with its locked up mouths and lips frozen in toothy smiles, grip aenon's hand harder to keep one arm through the looking glass.
My vocal chords ring out with a sound so startled by its own brassy notes that it cuts like silver air through a clay flute. My feet shift, the surrounding crowds glances move from the exposed breasts in the room and back again, and anxiety makes the air taste unsettled.
Everyday proceeds like its been planned in advance.
She looks concerned, yet ignores each man standing on his own anyway.
There's waiting, no witty retort to upend her sincere attempts, and yet she just as easily relys
upon her burnt bulb, doe eyes.
People are waiting in line, like robots chiming in with the proper noises and bleeps in an assembly line of constant static, like fitting a cog to an achingly bare piston.
Like fitting wreaths of vitory upon the gentle temples of each contender's crown, sloping down to offset one eye. It rolls around, rests on me, then continues on in its hungry and lifeless path to find something similar to itself. One eye blocked out, a multitude of replacements swirl around like an olive idling in a blank martini.
Somehow i just slip in between these little cracks, lean far enough back to blow smoke rings and frame a scene of debate with its locked up mouths and lips frozen in toothy smiles, grip aenon's hand harder to keep one arm through the looking glass.
My vocal chords ring out with a sound so startled by its own brassy notes that it cuts like silver air through a clay flute. My feet shift, the surrounding crowds glances move from the exposed breasts in the room and back again, and anxiety makes the air taste unsettled.
Everyday proceeds like its been planned in advance.