In this fight, this acted out play, of my cast of internal actors,
Of discreet thespians violently waking up to my senses,
By a child in a alarm clock costume.
This awakening has happened so many times my back is calloused from the sand and cement of the road that I come back to consciousness at.
My head – this theater ran by robots,
This automated drama that feels lost and out lines,
the shuffle goes on,
facial contortions bring no continuity till the final act.
In a recursive rain scene which starts a fire,
Caused by the simulacrum of synapses that short circuit,
snapping carbon and oxygen into reunion,
and then comes the flood of the fire sprinklers which wash me away again,
into the sea,
Where so many bodies lie broken and disconnected from their breathing.
I sink again and attempt to remember the contrarian boy who is curious enough question at the water's edge.
Hoping he'll pay attention to his senses so I'll be saved from drowning again in that deep pond mindlessness, of apathy,
Saved for another moment where I can play my part.
Caused by the simulacrum of synapses that short circuit,
snapping carbon and oxygen into reunion,
and then comes the flood of the fire sprinklers which wash me away again,
into the sea,
Where so many bodies lie broken and disconnected from their breathing.
I sink again and attempt to remember the contrarian boy who is curious enough question at the water's edge.
Hoping he'll pay attention to his senses so I'll be saved from drowning again in that deep pond mindlessness, of apathy,
Saved for another moment where I can play my part.