Sounds of the Future

A body floating on

a body of water.

-

Get your tongue out of my

head already.

-

The body and face

never sharing the frame,

always separate, severed,

refusing to be sutured.

-

The sounds of the future,

a dry throat, a wordless mouth.

-

A whirlwind of fears,

a hand on the controls,

tugging the strings,

my forced rictus grin.

-

All of those

lost and forgotten pictures.

-

All of those drawings

dated so far back

your last meal documented

your name not remembered

except by a buried book, somewhere.

-

The ink battles with time,

and cannot fight off the dust.

-

Feeding the hollow,

demonic faces on show,

follow me home, though

my movements are slow.

-

It could be the last night of this,

please, God, let it be the last night of this.

-

Filled to the brim

with a potent disgust

at all of those moments

that somehow led to us.