Al Charity
find the momentum to
still my mind,
drafty in its cobwebbed
heights, the clock tick
too slow to feign
accuracy, though how quick
one word swings its hands
to sweep the walls free, with
the might of energy pressing
outward, on the walls. radiating,
vibrating glass.
momentum, my mind stills
on too many words spoken,
the option null in the eyes
of coercion, uncertain mouths
spilling into breath,
dying as it moves.
to find, unrelenting, a
sourceless want
troubling over what
might pass for normalcy.
with fog descending, casting
any action into relevance,
shucking the yoke of
a decisive pass, blinded
by language, and
all it means, brightening
the silken filament to
be plucked from the wall
by the each, eventually.
