The clock face shivered then it simply died.
I found the fracture where the wiring hides.
I ate my breakfast on the older side,
then stepped across the fault line for the ride.
The coffee tasted like a copper cent—
I knew exactly where the morning went.
A binary of breathing and the end,
a jagged wound no one would want to mend.
I see the grease upon the kitchen tile,
but I haven’t seen a reason for a smile.
The world is binary, cold, and flat—
I’m sitting in the wreckage of the cat.
The bridge is burning and the water’s black.
There isn’t any way of getting back.
One half is sunlight and the other’s lead—
one half is living and the other’s dead.
I’m standing on the edge of what I knew,
and everything I see is turning blue.
The mailman brings the bills for power used
while I’m dangling from a granite ledge.
I used to have a list of things to do
before the sky decided to go through.
Your perfume lingers on a dirty shirt.
I’m face down in the Tennesseean dirt.
The irony is heavy as a stone—
I’m naked and I’m standing all alone.
The logic of the day is ripped apart,
a clinical dissection of the heart.
I try to remember how the light felt then,
before the ink ran out inside the pen.
A thousand miles compressed into one step,
a secret that the calendar has kept.
I’m lacing up my boots to walk the floor
but I can’t find the handle on the door.
The tragedy is funny in a way—
the punchline of a very long-drawn day.
I’ll pour a drink and watch the fracture grow.
There isn’t anything I’d care to know.