blacktop low down to the street;
the harrowing heights from the roof
are the last remaining nerves that have
exploded from the brainstem;

the granite eyelash is a perfect
effect for the shattering;
the sculpted fingernails will be
painted the perfect dust of white.

a violent inhalation,
a screaming exhalation,
a shattering scream and then
the fall to the end of the moment that was caught
in the balance between now and then, when the
moments still mattered to the times we had,
when their passing went by with a little less notice,
when the falling feeling wasnt imminent,
when the daylight was being faced;

not as it is now, where the blacktop is beckoning me in,
and the sky is at my tail, grasping in feigned desparation
the last crumbles of my dust.

12/26/2003

Posted on 12/26/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams