Building an Incident

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

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