(Another potential track.)
Stormclouds on your brow, no sunshine at the ready to evaporate the doubts seeping into your foundations.
hail breaks above the sound barrier like meteors- a reminder that a meteoric rise is no prize, survival games against celestial objects in the sky who have occupied the night far longer,whose knowledge of vacuum reaches farther.
They brag as if they had the father’s ear.
Any arrears you are owed have been laundered or loaned out like a donation box at Christmas, and it’s somewhere in this prison of gallows and buried gold I picked up a shovel and digged holes in the yard, thinking physiology may not let me fly, but I can at least choose where I will die attempting it, landing in this narrow, six-foot pit, when I stumbled on riches that would fund researching spaceships, and suddenly the top of that barbwire fence is slightly less appealing.
The immediate inset of insatiable regret is
300-thread count concealing every silken stormcloud
on the ceiling of
my ageless universe
every hole in the canopy hurts but given purpose you can
Tell them you have a reason to burn through the atmosphere like a single tear over millions of pores, even when your eyes are dry and sore you will feign it, believe them, taste it, not a single downward stream wasted conforming to
the accusations of westward winds.
Just tell yourself