we're all waiting in line
for the second to come
where we either fall off the cliff
or choose to jump

and get put out of our misery...
anticipation
impatience
boredom

a strangely familiar feeling of solidarity

it either feels like a waste of time
or like you have all the time in the world

either constrained
or free,

oh dear virtues of love and song!

what a slow painful bleeding
what an amazing violent relief
what a comedown
what beautiful brain swelling
an infinite white oblivion

what a sacrifice
what devotion
what passion

what music...

what a burden it must be for a musician
the bard who is to dwell in the ambivalence
the mime who wishes to sing
but remains a mute

oh cruel queue
oh manic elation
oh devestation

why must you rude & shove?
surely we can ration
is there not enough air?

this is not a line but a stampede
we remain trampled

have we not learned from the birds?
have we not learned from the herds?

we're all waiting in line
for the second to come
teetering above a white oblivion

infinite,
beautiful,
a comedown...
what a violent relief

what a slow painful bleeding