I can feel it fraying.
I can feel it breaking.
Under all this strain,
force
multiplied,
unbearable.
I smell the burning wires.
I see the malfunction.
I hear the grim melee.
The building of an incident.
This day bleeds,
just like every day did before.
At first,
one bright slash across the throat,
and then
out pours the light stream,
revealing the remains of our night of laughter.
Something so significant
missing from the beginning.
There used to be
children playing in these streets,
but now everyone retreats
back to their silos
and awaits
their grid coordinates.
This is gonna break,
as if by design.
A shear point,
a hand grenade,
passed on down the line.
Hope you get it passed
on to who’s after you.
All these wives’ tales
turned out to be true,
or,
at least
the scary ones.
I can hear the gears grind.
I can hear the motor whine.
On come the trouble lights.
Too late for new insights.
The day bleeds out,
and the night of our discontent
falls upon us
like a winding sheet.
Stand by;
wait for the beep.
HG – 2019
