Wind from Transience

The wind forces us to face these uphill battles.
These simple choices held above our collective heads
like ideas we never got to say out loud.

View it as an accolade, so many notches
on a black leather belt, before so many
piss you away for leaving.

Trying was an understatement.
Not so much could be said about your all
because we all have faced that giant
and we all had to lose at the same time.

Sex isn't fair
because it's always on the table.
Now it's stripped away like that rust
on your car you were made to pay for.

And the loser is the one that gets out last.
They can't see it coming, they lay
in a naked fetal position hoping the world
could be resolved again.

Then it's all fruit fall and over hauls.
The days are long like flag poles.
The direction is only straight
but the travel is pushing down
where growth is uncertain
and the rays are broken.

Before the decisions can alter
a vision, the feeling of defeat
already has preyed
on the level of horizons.
Nothing brings pain
easier then betrayal.

The separation of wood and space
ends up with splinters.
Trying to crash on top doesn't
comfort just burns the feelings
at the end of each nerve.

And each sacrifice to freedom
only ended up being to survive
in between the four seasons.

All this free time masked
by the economies cascade
and the faces, once sad,
weren't made.

Together, only alone
living on a crowded road
on the perimeter of a community
threatened by extinction
when our own hands and eyes
turned towards a projection
of ourselves.

But some of us are still here,
waiting like a child ready to be picked up
after a long day
at a place we never wanted to be
but forced upon through
aqueducts and rice water.

Cold statues touching the
burnt edges of novelty pages.
In a grey crypt
even if it was a stale chick.

Underneath cherry pits
and thin less tits
an insidious gift
by a music player with
Big B playing that Great Ol' Twist.