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Without meaning or context, we shudder to think

In our orbits alone, our mouths blur with speed

Skulls from the skin, extracted and shellacked

Not one or the other, know not what they need

Laughing before realizing the joke we just heard

Engulfed in low resolution, we are our own punchline

The timing now perfect, the set-up now done

Shadow and light, dancing with might

Forget the atrocities, themselves not the point

Generational trauma, lines the bellcurves

Better still, bitter sell, our last penny spent

On darkness and violence, downtrodden our nerves

It's not the 'who' we are, it's the knowing of what we can become

Subconscious, always down the hall out sight, out of reach

The closer and brighter the light, the longer, the blurry

nurtures the light

The longer, the further, it's shadow persists

We croak and we choke, on our own words and our deeds

We stumble, we fall from the slippery blood from our collective wrist