Bridges

Where shall I go when this road ends as it is nearing that closure. Circle back to the start. Repeat these raindrops one by one until all is saturated.

Where does it lead me? In stark colors too pungent. Step by step those stairs that took me up now lead me down. As if time were playing backward and I'm just what I was before this. Except for the fact that I need it now to be anything at all.

And to remember. Always remembering. The curse of having known such beautiful atrocities. That those holocausts of the heart might somehow liberate those ghost that still linger. Out of those chambers to where death doesn't know them. Or else isn't real.

Is it not true? As once was promised me. That hope is often fetched with the loosest tether. That the less we want the more we see we have.

Or something similar. That all these questions might someday cease to ask. And finally have their answers.

Like a cold bottle to dry lips. More than wetting them it has so many other subtle purposes. Make me whole. Then carve those pieces. And then leave me to myself. To arrange them as I see fit.

Letting this disease arbitrate every instance. Until no other picture ever was.

And that is the best way tos fall asleep. The best way to wake up. Spinning in this flightless orbit. No sun. No moon. Just the sharp lips of time as they kiss my throat.

And my bridges built from the blood.