Swelling like good songs, Strummer gone acoustic
spanish optimism, calming a steady breeze
curling inwards, patter past the pit
in your gut still clouds bang horizon
darkness towers forever
over us, all of us, struggle sharply instinctual
suicide, when it’s hard red eyes
frozen by the beat, clear blue
shattered with a ball peen
strike at the center mass, nothing of a cushion
underneath, shards will rain
over everyone on both sides
opposite the split, the river will run
red as the sclera screeching
from the blood shot, unplug in emergency
if at all like this, they’ve won already.
But they haven’t a knowing smirk
painted left to right like a comet trail
in the dawn light over the plain, booming a shattering
pulse throughout all reality, it seemed at the time
or must have had I been there, overconfidence
shaky fencepost complicit swaying
this and that, hesitance may be
a symbol of the soul or time ravaging
footprints in the sand, showing the way
enlightenment presents to us
going in circles, seeing blank horizon
everywhere forever on, footpads placing
pleasantly in the sand, it is warm
sustaining hilarious resonant contemplation.