we sing our mouths form the words with precision with obedience but we do not recognise the shapes the colours at least give the illusion of warmth I’ve left a lot of gloves on trains two to be precise
sing sing sing sing why aren’t you singing? it’s beautiful delightful a lime green careen sends you spinning through the abyss and it won’t let you lose faith in oxygen now don’t lose faith sing along don’t get breathless
then it slows becomes less about the tune about the colours or the melody becomes simply a way of making noise a battle cry my hands are bloody freezing
rain soaking through my jeans a way of being a way of surviving it hurts all the way up it hurts O sweet lord it hurts when will this bloody bus get here keep singing keep singing stars are a distraction don’t look up keep looking down at your music sheet that’s it there you go
the music spools and drops to the ground like a child’s ribbon on the street and everyone just keeps walking everyone steps into it treading it grinding it deeper into the pavement and the pavement doesn’t care why would it. sing
how many ways do you feel empty? I’m still discovering new ways still unearthing strange new jars the bus will be here soon oh look here it comes and it’s here. the crescendo and
that final, ponderous note: is this living? Am I living yet?