The Wake

It takes the theme
that point in space where all thoughts suspend
their oscillating temper.
And the realization just ruptures the crease
like biting sunlight
through pulsating destruction.
Like that pressure when the red and yellow
meet, then perish in the white.
When breath is noticed
the rippling crinkle hits
the walls.
Seeing the bearded man coming down
the assembly line…
Do I exist for it?
Or does it exist for me?
They speak of:
“Follow the forgotten leaves,
Forget about downtrodden trees.”

Ambiguous space,

Define something
before me now.

So this is it?
The preconceptions dip below the surface
and we just forget
what it was,
the streaming heaviness of hue.
So this is what I slip into?
Tumultuous desperation
and the glass doesn’t reflect as it used to.
Check off the quintessential
then, relax in graying thoughts.
Repetition(repetition) makes fact
therefore; the pragmatic axiom.

Watch your stride as you cross
that high bridge with spires like a crown.

Forget me as consistency turns to specks