KILLING, TWISTED ZONE
aspects of inversion
none of these might know;
who keeps the tabs
on subtle states,
noting alignments,
tracking the tides?
only in here,
the world beneath
we run from chain
and rope and bands,
then find ourselves
thrown into void
without containment,
without control;
stuck in fens unsuspected,
morasses unforeseen
far below zero
we try to stand
but can't navigate
the negative grids;
how to chart a path to light
when all vectors seed
strange calculuses,
function on function, root on sine?
how strangely time
betrays us too,
spinning out extension
where none was had
and collapsing into nothing
when most it's needed,
as frame for frantic action
never done complete
we reach to pasts
and try to grasp the hours
too fleeting passing
to mark these lines
where they'd be known
and slake the thirsts
of numbered days
begging for detail
- Brendan Tripp
05/17/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp