Sound/Fury/Nothing

this thing
doesn’t happen here

a man rolling on two wheels
frantically scanning the dirt below
pacing

(as much as such a thing
can be accomplished upon a bycicle)

my hand extended whispering
the promise to bring him home
‘And I will whisper you home
an ill-fated vessel
against the rock lined shore.’
and he came
shaking and nodding
into the sunlight
holding his hand out in return
lingering through a summer sweat
savoring the end of light

the moments before
the darkness came
and gave him
nothing
pushing his fanatacism for place
into the spotlight
where only he
might view it

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