Sevengem

always moving,
whether or not at uniform speed,
and mind always racing
even—especially in sleep.
my hands certainly
cannot keep up.
this is my only existence.
I have done with it
what I have done
not all I could have done,
but I did smile now and then.

born uniform,
I made myself the sort of person
another cannot understand
but pities anyhow.
with battered, tottering mind
and bleeding gums,
my glacial eyes,
silver lips, silver tongue
and their movements
my only swords.

the world isn’t meant
to be explored this way.
to be seen only
as we move.
when we’ve run out of grain,
of rain, of room.
or en route to some other place.
through a window
racing against the sun.
dawn’s colours dulled by tinted glass,
rain blocked from cooling skin.
the scent of summer coming
from an air “freshener.”
towns reduced to blocks of trees
with names declared by highway signs.
the road to hell
is the road to anywhere,
paved in isolation.