Self-cycled

Under the sighs of silent conversations
lingers the nervous ticking of the clock –
the pale rhythm of steady-state lives
the metronome of houses without heartbeats

between us: miles disguised as centimeters
hours camouflaged as minutes
remnants of sentiments carved in pendants;

we ingest the space we inhabit
the metaphorical poop and the rabbit

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s