Rough copy

post-poning prior made engagements
stoning my window wont do a thing
I am lost in a sea of pavement
concrete yet fragile

shouting intangible fragments
to prove the ground is sound
stepping to meet it, with my soul surfaced
but the surface never came

falling forward against a paradox of mirrors
breaking their concentration from a long game of stare
hesitation bares me with its cold presence
awaiting destinations, unwilling to prepare

the hurse's serenade
the harness of a vain of thunder
eyes affixed the curses said
denying that im dead, in a pool of red