Born again,

Stuck in time

Awash with                                                    movies

&

with fairies

and on an afternoon

That was blessed

and

cursed

With no clouds whatsoever.

With no chance whatsoever.

A hopelessness blows,

Not loudly enough to move the wind-chimes.

Shining through the closed widows,

Keeping the sinners and widows out

                                                        Passing through ruffled curtains-

Passing through deserted towns-

Phasing in

&

Out again

Hating their own handwriting-

Nursing their  own injured  hamstrings-

Waiting for the oven to finally preheat

Seconds turn into place settings and minutes turn into

musical chairs.

What little light does shine through,

illuminates the dust-

Illuminates the angels present within this corridor,

Salvaging what can be salvaged.

This motion picture,

Stuck in this quicksand-

Tundra clouds fast approaching,

                                                  Tires screeching,

&

Sounds from tired  chainsaws.

Sounds born from the mouths of volcanoes,

Sounds born from some distant forest,

Sounds born out of violence.

The only place to truly rest,

Is glued to a loveseat,

In between previews,

Tossing and turning,

Calling out for any hero,

Calling out for any gorgon,

in between previews

                                                                                       still lost in the mist.