The slippery tones interleave 
then ripple back and away
from the jagged cliff 
into the wet black fall.
 
If every decision
forks the way into a path
at the edge of perdition
and the illusion of survival,
 
if every turn a universe
folded into a tiny dimension,
and everyone and everywhere,
the combined effort
 
not amounting to much,
not next to this monstrous fair,
ears straining to measure,
eyes useless in last resort,
 
instead of drought, a flood,
In lieu of humanity, tattoos
pronouncing destruction
of the order of reason,
 
a dystopian narrative
in the book of possibilities,
bookmarked at this page,
this now, pen hovering on
 
 
jam17