what hangs in the air if the new age is combustion and lack of satisfaction?
everyone takes a piece of me, so i’m left with incoherent parts for the journey

Catastrophe is a normal part of life but did you forget
the times you used to be worshipped? brush shoulders
with royals. no matter how low you stoop, they still
hang prayers in the air; chandeliers in the atmosphere

a Pet of the higher kingdom chained in these polluted
mortal intersections crossing life with death. surprised
by reality—a lit face dimming of its expectations

did you forget?
it’s been a long journey.

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