the drift

plastic keys try to please me
at my metal desk by boxes of energy
the lcd placates in crisp pixelation
electromagnetic paranoia signals in waves
printers exhale toner and ozone
the phone blinks red codes saying,
"you know where you are with"
hamfisted emotions punching holes
reasons and opinions stolen from the road

at the metal wayside you wet your sleeve
then you left (or did i leave?)
hammering discontent repeatedly
in flexing muscles, twitching signs
smithing warm iron into edges, sparks
preparing to point the tip at me,
shield in place, marked with crosses
a mace hanging off your hip

my totality is left in young feet
some walking upside down under a summer lamp
faces blurred by the watery heat
my voice just an echo
vibrating in their memories

some days i try to grow wings
look down on roads like brittle veins
where metal blood pumps and pushes
gray with smoke from the crucible heart
cold clouds part as i drift past

i visit plots where old houses stood
their smashed walls now dust
to be swept up in clumps under the rug
afternoons spent trusting
questions thrust in naked revelation
become cold slides used only for dissection

in the evenings on the oversized sectional
separated by digital noise
digital remorse
we drift downstream
lights dimmed
children deaf in their sleep
you snoring under faux fur
me holding the remote
purple cushions sliding loose
sliding slowly to the floor
while i fold vertical distance with my eyelids