Gliding, Always Gliding

Always out of reach
My bad day just gets worse
Calling from above
Pouring out like liquid cement
Pretty killers smirk my way
Interested in nothing
But tooth decay.
Form down the hilltops the sirens ring
Falling towards
The mountain king.
Forward rhymes
Just two feet tall
How are the raven’s feet, so small?
Global catastrophe
Calms me, soothes me.
And quiet silence
With the pool of water trickling down
Pricking my finger
Alone in an elevator
Comforts me.
But funny
Songs and movies
Scribe across my being
While
Heart pounding, muscles clenching
I sit in the backseat of the sticky brown car
And forget my past life.
Stiff is my elbow,
Pained is my hair
It hurts inside its thin profile
Screams in agony.
But to no avail
It can never
Evacuate from its viscid dungeon
Grotesque and snide
It lingers
While narrow moth antennas
Tickle the outskirts
Of the seawater’s edge.
Guess what this means
And I will speak of
Candles that whimper
In the dank skunk of night
And flowers that smile
And wilt upon the boxwood table.
Twenty-four hours away
From escape, from death.
How can it melt away and make it turn into dust?
Never to enter
That’s what the future said to me
So many uncertainties
Lingering, formulating, processing.
The outlook can be great
Or just perish in the stagnant wind.
But at the end, it all points to
Who has the biggest pocket.