and follow me, through this sensory entanglement
we dare to call humanity.
Come, all those who speak my tongue,
who perceive this lunchbox sunrise for which I fought,
and celebrate another day done,
even with those who do not.
Come, though it is plain to see
that the pride of man is unbounded and free
from all reservations. Scurvy of senses,
dull and weakening them all, one by one
by five by three by four by two until they are done.
Come, because I have heard no other way,
and knowing you unable to determine and keep
shifting tides of vanity at bay
as I do, I shall not leave this place without you.
I have tasted the deserted instruments,
and cringed in the silence as their musicians ran away.
Come, the faux flood is nearly complete,
and mirrors we used to reflect our lives
are all shattered, and bloody to touch.
It is dark through the window and I cannot direct
the menacing retreat, a dubious symphony
conducted by grotesque yet beautiful feet.
I have read them all in my illiteracy, though cannot recall much.
Come, for I fear our time draws near,
and with the world, you have strayed past my reach.
Can you not feel change upon you?
Can you not smell it within the air?
I sit alone amongst the frequencies, unable to fear
the inevitable, which I sense upon this night
like any other, when man cannot suffice.
My backyard is empty, my blood like ice.