she is treading the line,
one foot in free fall; seconds away
she stops and glances up at a
polyester sun, finds herself momentarily
hypnotised by the vivid passing of
night and day. where do they find it,
each dawn? the strength to carry on
into a life that always ends, that
transient glimpse of leaking gold
and echoing grey before the cycle
starts again. who prays for the stars, the
dedicated loneliness of the winter sky?
she sighs and empties her heart into the
wilderness, her hand tracing the
delicate embrace of dark and destiny
intertwined. give me distance she
implores of the atmosphere. drown this
mind in silence. who does she think
is listening? one thing she knows:
there's nothing down here to believe in.
it's written in the curve of her lips,
the whiskey dregs that coat her tongue.
but there is no answer. no answer but her,
this madwoman swirling into space. clutching cries from a bitter horizon, her roars spill out as twinkling laughs.
so she reaches up to mould her own sun
between her fingertips, places it deep
within her abdomen. she swells, she
glows, she carries on.
the dawn breaks.