skypilot

when the magic is all over

and the last notes die out onstage

the sky outside a window

glassy reflection of a face

the memory of cold

the memory of light

in sequenced chunks or abstracted smears

at a standstill i stand still

people file in a room

they said something to me

salt air from another lifetime

the gulls and the swallows over us

winter is hurting my skin

i long for deep warm resolution

an end to the constant blather

i have moved inexplicably sideways

my blinds are drawn on fragile dawn

sleep is a strange person to understand

life not sure if it made any difference anything i did

it was all predestined that i sit here typing this now

nihilistically numbed

injured but inured to whatever this is if its pain

edged out of space and time slipping bye

oh yeah rocknroll tomorrow isnt it?

i’ll be the one at the airport early with my guitar!