Shut the door, & enclose
into an echo chamber of Eurydice,
vituperative thoughts rising,
scornful,
with the adrenaline,

oh, with the wow
and flutter
of a severed nerve,

a malefaction, analogous
to the real thing —
a real fucking thing, like

a crack of thunder
chasing the lightning;
waiting for its turn.

The music cuts through the din, as

a hypermobile pigeon-toed kid
drifts on in a skid;
gliding on,

on and on,
with her white noise & debris;
hindsight
softly languishing.
#poetry #writing