time places its test upon an atlas-like
shoulder
sound escapes
&
shapes the world.

theory proves only what we imagine
to be
the universal truths are still true, in that
everything we know
we see
& everything we are is
incomplete

sudden quakes of the short fused
heart
tear me down and pull me apart
then raise me back up
to the untitled locking of windows
& cars

they seal themselves away
little naysayers
looking for a place
too clean to be true
too shallow to acknowledge
that when all this is done we won't have a thing
& when i'm dead & gone
i'll still sing
i'll still sing
i'll still sing
i'll still sing