Poem-A-Day: Day 598

Zombie Momentum

smoke and mirrors
are the one thing
I’ve grown accustomed to
in this filthy territory
four winds blowing
convalescence dreams
and the sleepwalking hit
that drifts from a nodding pass
and the shadow convincing
a whisper lightly flitted

and the streetlights pass
unknowingly quicker than before
because the wind is guilty
of strangulation
no less triangulation on the point
of collapse

it’s nothing but the shambling
of drowning within the self
a rowing motion
of back and forth
and the feet still shuffle
they can’t help but fall
out of place with each other
they read the mind
and it has nothing in mind
nothing but back and forth momentum