Trapped between the sound of splashing and touching water
Wearing fanfares to allay fear
Fostering first finishes from ticks glimmering
Stand within ear shot of the gun to know your target
Is clapping the fruit of the harvest?
Drown, and become a compass from a floating carcass.
Another one who did the math only to make up the numbers
Saddled with sackcloth, shame and numbness
Straddling feint margins, seeking waves as markers.
Struggling to strum the melody of the barking.
Seeking to beat this with heartstrings.
A war-torn dome is only enlightened by stillness.
Choose your weapon before tumbleweed kills you.
Strike with every breath, release gold or reach home.
Time the trapeze, then reach and step.
Let your soul know this was a good body to rent.