Gloamed onto, the darkness cheap
Another roll-in-the-day,
found, fucked, and forgotten.
The dark end of the street
Or tunneled under, the scrolling
spins the bullet brainward.
The arc captured (Eli crashes still)
The foe carts off the prize;
unknowing, it seals their demise.
The empty promise passed on
As one may pass on many things;
eventually the turn must be taken.
A swing poorly swung,
A kiss unjustly missed,
And all this.
Still, all this then scrabbling at the rock,
Hoping against the same,
to escape the maelstrom’s suck.
But down as surely as the wasteward sun;
There is no trajectory.
So on the night.
poetastrophy 