some small surrender

some small surrender

I'm polishing old bones as a form of meditation
while time clocks sing out a damn depressing song.

Seeping into daylight. What wonder waits with
sharp teeth? So shiny they bounce light. Breaking
it into prisms. Shot up in white noise.

This segue has vigor. It inspires the dull joy
of hard work.

Prying up the afternoon. The hazy promise of morning
has worn down by the kinetic energy of motion and the
constant narrowing of interesting possibilities.
Slow... Stop. Rest. Re-calculate. There's still the
sanity of sunlight left. Soon the dark madness of
night will be here to work its magic on the
best and worst of us flesh and blood
poor bastards.

Have a drink. Find something to laugh at.
NOthing will ever stop this terrible forward motion.

The only feasible option I've ever found
is to dream against the mortal chaos, this
silly, awkward life.

Each day is a comic tragedy. Each sunrise is
another chance for us to fall and fumble into
our true nature: broken, bruised angels.
Too ugly to shine. Too beat-up to not adore.
This is, indeed, a strange existence.