ruptures and more to come
i have hidden in the ports
of the world while trying
to sew up the wounds
i have an awful tune
stuck in my crop
to be a truck driver
sounds like perfection
rambling work, rolling work
the sillouettes of who i was
dance around me
announcing the end
calling me back to
watch the same horrors
but i keep my eyes closed
and choose a path
at random
