The uncertainty is palpable; the confusion is tangible.
It’s all drawn to a point, & now hangs on a zip line, mid-canyon.
We won’t say that it’s waiting for rescue, but,
We’ll whisper that it’s waiting for rescue.
Current status: in a holding pattern.
She used to be a hammer.
She used to be a piece of well-oiled machinery, accustomed to giving commands & seeing them obeyed.
But these days, there’s no follow-through; no one hears when she shouts into the wind.
Now, fallen into disrepair, she sits in her own little corner in her own little chair & listens to the calming cacophony of a cigarette’s crackle on chapped lips.
& she’ll just do it all again when, on the radio, she hears November Rain...
It’s all drawn to a point, & now hangs on a zip line, mid-canyon.
We won’t say that it’s waiting for rescue, but,
We’ll whisper that it’s waiting for rescue.
Current status: in a holding pattern.
She used to be a hammer.
She used to be a piece of well-oiled machinery, accustomed to giving commands & seeing them obeyed.
But these days, there’s no follow-through; no one hears when she shouts into the wind.
Now, fallen into disrepair, she sits in her own little corner in her own little chair & listens to the calming cacophony of a cigarette’s crackle on chapped lips.
& she’ll just do it all again when, on the radio, she hears November Rain...
