Metamorph -

As faces age with time and desperation

Voices crystalize

Into the chemistry of a memory that comforts me

In the waning hours as I descend

Everyday… slipping away

Spinning the silk of my own cocoon on a distant moon

Severing ties with painful goodbyes

It’s no surprise that I would choose solitude

So I guess, at best, I’m blessed with a blindness

That keeps me synchronized

With the chemistry of the memories that come to me

Sealed inside my satellite

My words rise like a fever in the thinning air

And collect themselves in darker corners

Saying nothing… and getting me nowhere