paper-cut sonata

Words that rhyme
Can’t pierce your ears enough to get your attention
So I talk broken
In awkward pauses and disappointed sighs
To keep your hands away from your eyes
Long enough to hear you say
A well composed lie

We don’t have to look at those faded stars
More faded than our aspirations
More distant than our desires
So well disciplined and groomed
Like an outdoor poodle

Remnants of a holiday can’t be erased from my periphery
So I stare blankly ahead
Keeping my toes on the line
To keep me loyal to a well-rehearsed regimen
Just long enough to start again

It could be a long gaze through rain-smeared windows
Or an attachment disorder to my guitar cable
But this fear and this disappointment will rise again
Deep in my chest, slowly swallowing me
Insulating me into a well-packaged souvenir
A bureaucratic waste disposal unit

That we can be pleased to slide sideways
As you drag your hand down your nearly immaculate desk
To push the crumbs and clutter

Some days,
I can climb into the tiniest paper cut
Just to feel closer to my insides

Some days,
I can predict the future
Everything eventually


Becomes

broken