Incessant down wrought
Discord.
Records spinning
Like measuring seconds.

And I’m picking through
The minutes with my teeth.

We take a lungful of
Asphalt before stumbling
To our feet
Defeating the intention of
Initially falling.

Prolonging the illusion
Of being infallible.

And I’m failing to
See the art in failure.
Collapsing
To never stand up.

I write from my spine.

Not from my chest.

A delusion of
Prominence
Gliding gracefully
Away.

A promise of
Prospects fused
In the back of my throat.

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