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The Transition
A deep aching within, where holy lights beam through punctuations in my skin.
It grumbles like the tectonic plate of my underground,
throbs with the force of fatal injury as blood rushes to the surface
with the infuriating pulse of an intraocular migraine,
as your annoyance flickers the fluorescent lights on, and off;
disturbing trepid waters, inviting explosions of invasive emotion.
The vast unknown in my life rises quickly, the leavening of dough,
turning golden before the autumn equinox, crimson tides
reflect the turning of the sun,
running past the expiration date; the infancy of joy,
a widening chasm that, if not filled by now, may never be.
Something is missing, it is strife and it is my own life,
wise words were never spoken, I reject my own wisdom,
at a crossroad and there is a fork in the road;
the consumption belongs to where jealousy will be least,
identifiable.
Tied to the railroad tracks,
with salt and pepper rope and seasoning of life’s turbulence,
facing the inevitable stare of a separately moving train to my right,
making…
