the tongue's stethoscopic clacks
in ears, tug at the throat &
against teeth.
not a word.
a rusty lighter's pried scratch--
too thick to spark.
no wind, coincidentally.
still--there is consciousness.
the flight patterns of micro details
touchdown on different but
functional timezones, all in a patch
of pavement.
cars pass & the body remains
unbroken.
the ratio of tinted windows seen
thru, is in simpatico with the end
of a day.
though the edge of the world
plummates along--i hang back &
stroke a jade lion's tail.