Failure. Contact. Relapse.

I dress in black because I move in slow motion.

I watch myself moving, like a funeral procession and I put nothing behind me.

I swam thru dusk and watch you fall from the sky, remembering that I had done the same as a child

and then as a young man... watching your reflection in the lake that I circled.

I would sing, "is there anyone anywhere at this time asking for anyone anywhere like me".

I started singing when I was eight or nine. I haven't got a reply. 

I listened so hard to dissonant melodies likened to a malison swansong

and to things not of this earth, they couldn't be.

I push and push to keep it from happening,

it happens anyhow, the things I do to myself.

I must do them, I can't bear to have anyone do it.

I don't keep romantic hours

I wish I'd stop knowing and predicting.

I'd like some silence.

I live for my own detriment.

What is wrong, not with the world, but me?

In two weeks time, it will fall through.