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traction fragments

Are you going in?
Are you going in?

traction fragments

Good grip in these tires.
Good shit, as far as it goes.
But I cannot keep it lit.
A cliche that won’t hurt a bit.

Easy now, in it goes.
A spot of blood on your clothes.
No need to bother,
It’ll sort itself out.
Take care of no other,
No one else is about.

It’s just you and your nature,
And the battle between the slits,
An instant extended,
A hole made of bits.

So take the whole damn insect army,
Take the pain from its point,
Clean away what was hurting,
Break the bones at the joint.

Toss the lifelines overboard,
Too frayed and old to save us,
We must express our contempt for the here and now,
By becoming redundant somehow.

Floodwaters already overhead,
Stink of drowned rats sinking down below.
Cover the hatch with plastic figurines,
Cover the hatch and lets go…

Now I never called it a moral issue,
It’s my life and I steer clear of the ethical.
But suppose I was in the mix,
I would never get out alive with these tricks.

No, I would prefer to wait here and mull inside.
Over things that have happened and have not,
Let shards of broken moments blow smoke into my full eyes,
Let all that’s passing join what I forgot.

The convoy may or may not find us,
Passing ocean liners are too busy looking after each other,
We can wander in the caked sand until we go mad with hunger,
Or we could just not bother.

So may every cheap sentence end with an exclamation mark,
May every cheap trick fill us with pride.
The power and the glory in the brute energy of letting go,
Every other shot fired wildly wide.

Here comes the winter and its wares,
A noisy ruckus on the damp road,
Emerging from the green trees pulling a carpet of torn leaves,
Open mouthed greedy gaping grin hanging loose.
Eyes aloft at the sky, drinking in the colour and space.
I had something to say,
But forgot as it passed,
Swallowed the word and let it stick in my throat.
Could not speak, try as I might,
Half ideas banked in a snowed-in mind in the decaying light,
Entropy or circles?
A line or a loop?
Caught between the two sames,
I pick at the bloodstains,
Little pieces of scab under my fingernails.

Cannot keep it lit,
But it won’t hurt a bit-
Not where we’re going,
If only we could move…

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