Frantically we go,
moths to the flaming
The mechanical, untiring arm of things.
The way it goes. Mischievous, nostalgic dopplegangers.
Progress for the sake of progress.
Running against the
wind as the cement hardens
Guitar solos, last-second comebacks.
The force of the motion. Untrustworthy mixtures.
Making sense of meeting all the wrong ends.
Speaking in a
language of reverberations,