I Am Whittling At Something

 

I am whittling at something

That might not be there

Knife blade blunt grim

Sharpening air.

I am searching for something

Which likely has gone

Soot smear horizon

Dementedly hung.

My body feels something

I cannot define

Slug blood trail whorls

Directionless slime.

I want a time signature.

I want a key change:

On this anacrusis

I totter and wait.

I wait and I totter

On my anacrusis.

I hate this key change.

I want the old figure.

Directionless mind,

Slow blood, sluggish mule;

I cannot define

This new way of living.

But it has begun

Beyond some horizon

A ragged, sick sun

Coughs broken, de-shining.

I sharpen the air

I steel on each breath

I hang on somewhere

Without understanding.