One A.M.

The breeze is here.

It’s pouring

out from every possible garment that has laid flat

in the absence of television and storm.

Seven minutes ago, the unfinished notes of a piano wore off,

leaving an undefined track in the mirror;

Undefined shelves for some shadows at the promenade.

Rumor has it when the suburb transcends

you’ll see a little kid sleepwalk in the park

to pick up fishes and fireflies with a body

sealed and preserved as in a fridge.

You might ponder on your dashboard every time this occurs,

this apparition of normality in such

a personal portion.

The cat that walked beside your exterior,

it was also included

when it was minimized by the records in its faint stripes;

Continuous pavements, plane trees aren’t planes.

Only silver threads so thin like nerves

stretch across the streets in a dead video game.

If you want to go, just go

to where your speed is converted into firecrackers.

These houses can’t contain your journey,

they eat planets to replace everything.

 

A drop of silk on your palm will spread

to the barren apartments that lay ahead.

One more block and that’s it.

All will be left behind,

the cat, the piano,

the unbearable pavements,

The milliseconds after leaving this tunnel.

A doorknob, a run,

That bathtub is always an ocean.

 

If you want to go, just go.

God isn’t sleeping,

He has your favorite tie

Finely retrieved in His pocket. 

Author's Note

This actually has something to do with the previous poem 'One Sore Moment under a Sodium-Vapor Lamp'. They're kinda like...related to each other. yeah :)