Sights Past
I am awake
Restless and razed
Breathless and braced
A stem on the plain
Bed of no place
Yolk without name
Sights of our presence
Mapped and erased

I’m afraid of the tracks slipping from under me
I’m ashamed of what has been done to me

Cleft silver moon
A past without room
Song of enduring
Key with no root
Weight of our aims
Pumice and wave
The rest of a question
Bereft in the clay
I’m afraid of the strength of the family
I’m ashamed of things that are done to me
Talk about fucking machines!
I’m ashamed, but if you’re satisfied, care for that memory

It’s not the same: the image is broken
It’s not the same: dead as it’s spoken
It’s not the same: a network of ocean
It’s not the same: a terrible pain