by Arthur Klepchukov
The glass cracks before my eyes and I
admire the fractal patterns. Branching limbs
reaching for the edges, just to find them. Nails on
endless rows of fingertoes too short, too close,
too hurt. So hungry for an end
they forget to taste.
So soon we’ll suffocate.
But now will never breathe again.
Tomorrow we expire.
But now already has.
Forget the next. It’ll still come.
As long as there’s no tomorrow, we can
rise to enjoy the fall. Smile before the reasons flee.
Abandon all perspective. Escape causality.
Dance with silence before it shatters.