the fluorescent yellow combined
with the constant swaying of the tracks
make it difficult to memorize
anything,
let alone decipher each
verticalhorizontaldiagonal line
that comes together to create
something called
"a sentence."
but he's run out of time.
it is his final journey
in this aluminum-and-steel sarcophagus.
success is promising,
failure is threatening.
he doesn't have room
for ambiguity.
words slither out of his lips
like a letterchain-snake,
falling silently to the muddied
ground, whooshing to
nothing more
than a whisper
as they collide.
the voice of a god beckons
through the wordgrater o'erhead.
packed and put away,
he commends himself,
tests himself,
prepares himself,
stands,
and exits.
No comments:
Post a Comment