What we see if we choose to look

sliced upon slate
my glowing spark
in a lost fireplace

we see only what our eyes allow

drift
on billowing currents
of warmed air

and mud
leaves traces of memory
in the playground
of the past

why did they take iron
away from our hands

squeezing the anger out of my mind
onto filaments of wood soaked in chalk

tick
ratchet spaced measures of death
tick
the stretched elastic fear
tick
sounds of screaming that echo from my mouth
tick
black silence of a torn rope

paced electricity
bending on the edge of a moment
vibration unbecoming
to the steadiness of a knife
in the swamps of desire
that sleep within
and the secret pain
of a neglected heart

were we once
or have we ever been
locked up in this
our reflected gloom
for the stunted pleasure
of our departed friends

and nevermore