I wish the mindless loop of my heart,
Would soar to another place,
Some muscled county with knotty strength,
A country protected with iron shields and rock castles.
Instead, I wander the worried tundra,
Horned beasts slipping past – ghostly,
Field mice scattered like leaves over my feet,
I lope through yellow trampled grasses,
Careful not to look too far into the past or future.
If I could gather fortunes,
I’d slide each omen into my pocket,
Prophecies leaking like blood,
Oozing from this circle of slits,
A pouch of happiness is all I wanted.
My heart is uneasy with this distant rustling,
This quick stillness that could be a storm,
Or maybe just an hour of nothingness,
The feel of ozone rains on my tongue.
A stiff piercing jolt of what-the-fuck,
Runs through me, I stumble.