Touring Our Future Tragedies

On the edges of the sidewalk she’s spiraling,

sending a numbed mind pirouetting down the boardwalk,

bouncing from every open door like a pinball without a course,

sinking into any empty bar stool that beckons her over.

I’m tethered to where fear tells me not to go.

With dragged footsteps I’m thrust around every dark corner.

We fall and stumble and march and step forth but we aren’t falling deeper together.


To the balcony she’s caught swaying,

saying she’s spotted the Golden Gate bridge and the waving water

lapping up against her ankles as if Atlantis called from beneath,

promising respite for a weary traveler.

Faulty heartwork machinery prints desire out for the mind to follow.

I bear the same cannonball she cradles to her chest.

We trip and tumble and forge on and forward but we aren’t coming closer together.


In the shaded bedroom haunts she’s hiding,

claiming discovery of personality in manufactured throes,

driving up and down streets that forgot her name,

visiting faces that forgot their duty to not turn about,

calling Atlas names for holding the world up when he should have let it drop,

and she could’ve taken a swan dive off to a finality frontier.


But she exists in still frames of a head on a shoulder blade,

propping her dancing body upright as she sails around the tables.

I promised myself to never blink in the case I’d lose a single illustration of happiness.

But she only exists in still frames of a head on a shoulder blade,

and I’m trying to chase Jesus down a bottle of pills.


Stare off into the azure abyss and it sits silent and still as a blanket,

as unassuming as a force could be.

“Dive into Atlantis to find me.”

A selfish part of me clung to the cables like a dying leaf grasping its tree branch.

We fell and stumbled and marched to our beat but we didn’t fall deeper together.

( ❤ Mitch)

5 Comments

  1. What a beautiful fairytale of un-encounter… there are places, and spaces, where we exist collaterally present to each other, as in parallel lives, meant to observe and feeding ourselves with temporary, impermanent, human beauty

    Liked by 2 people

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