strum of the guitar string                         the shabads i learned evoke no sound

               i drop the light switch                  the twilight caves into my veins; black blood

   the windows fit into their space above              i gaze at nothing but many graves

      the swing stops swinging           alarms that rung out any inessential sounds in immaturity 

             colorful hands spacing out      grey as the only strands of hair

                             turn off the gas; create a fire

          stop signs; red lights                                               no yellow or white skies above

       begging for any reflection of pity or resolution

                                   lines form on my skin; waiting to seep into the ground            origins

                 silence is the only sound                    feeling no one

         it tastes like water; soap                                       my throat seals: need plumbing

                                                          i was never here

                  - disappear into wicked clutches