Impending Constrictions and Mechanical Things [Poem on 9-30-12]

When I extend my fingers

towards the sun

I sometimes look, not at the light

but the bones moving under

my skin,

reminding me I’m working.

 

I’m always evaluating the

value of everything

and I find it

confining.

Limiting myself to the

more valuable of your

choosing.

I’m shards of glass inside a balloon,

beautiful, but hardly rational

and I ask you to

define your own value,

for I’m confined.

 

We used to dance by the

light of the moon

but the days are getting shorter

and in the nights

we can’t sleep.

 

The winter trees are coming

while the clouds create

lenses over my eyes.

I watch a somber fire

burning in the trees.

 

I keep dreaming about

Catastrophic Failures

of this moving society

moved too fast.

 

But the other night

I was dreaming next to you.

 

The road is long but we’re

moving somewhere.