it's an old tale around town
that if you pierce the ground
with a needle just right
all the spirits will escape
no one really believes it
but the lore's dramatic flare gives a sense of community
at the bus stop stand
twelve children with clay faces
day and night they stare straight ahead
and mumble the same word
over and over
Time passes by,
back bent and wretched
the dead grace of fallen kings
and eventually
the clay breaks,
the heads roll
a visiting CEO
stands to make a speech
but finds an emptiness
clawing at her throat
the clay breaks,
the silent tears
of the heart of a brooding teen
end their tenancy
and return to the ocean
a nightshift manager
swipes their card, closes the barbed gates,
fumbles rolling a cigarette
and draws in a sigh,
but the breath refuses to escape
the clay breaks,
a bluebird sings
but cannot recall the melody
petals clog the gutter
but the branches have long withered
people meet up and gather
to try to quell the empty pressure
they stand to chant the childrens' lost word
but everyone remembers it differently
time passes
routine remains
but there are waves in the waterways
and sometimes people on the surface streets
find themselves lost in the tide
time passes,
the dirt city convulses
under its silent weight
we gather a needle
and pierce the ground,
but nothing happens
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
it's an old tale around town
that if you pierce the ground
with a needle just right
all the spirits will escape
no one really believes it
but the lore's dramatic flare gives a sense of community
at the bus stop stand
twelve children with clay faces
day and night they stare straight ahead
and mumble the same word
over and over
Time passes by,
back bent and wretched
the dead grace of fallen kings
and eventually
the clay breaks,
the heads roll
a visiting CEO
stands to make a speech
but finds an emptiness
clawing at her throat
the clay breaks,
the silent tears
of the heart of a brooding teen
end their tenancy
and return to the ocean
a nightshift manager
swipes their card, closes the barbed gates,
fumbles rolling a cigarette
and draws in a sigh,
but the breath refuses to escape
the clay breaks,
a bluebird sings
but cannot recall the melody
petals clog the gutter
but the branches have long withered
people meet up and gather
to try to quell the empty pressure
they stand to chant the childrens' lost word
but everyone remembers it differently
time passes
routine remains
but there are waves in the waterways
and sometimes people on the surface streets
find themselves lost in the tide
time passes,
the dirt city convulses
under its silent weight
we gather a needle
and pierce the ground,
but nothing happens
...
