Open road curbs against the valley, short,
As I move to greet it. My mind wails
Into the night breeze, contentedly stirring
Over my fingers, my thoughts, numb.
Silence throughout, still beyond, but ever
The vicious cyclone whirls, stirs.
Long hours of sleeping. A glass of whiskey
And a cube of ice, cracked and harsh and
Splashed out on the road, the same colour
As lamplight. Mind, cold, ice, spirit
In my glass, rushing through quiet lanes,
Rush'd through my eyes, my veins;
Starlight swirls and washes up my shirt,
Wrought with chills. My chest wonders aloud
At the pace of my heartbeat, the short
Breaths, gasping, drinking air, soft and uniform
And empty. A sort of present nonexistence
Whirls about my skin, my mind, my tears.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
Open road curbs against the valley, short,
As I move to greet it. My mind wails
Into the night breeze, contentedly stirring
Over my fingers, my thoughts, numb.
Silence throughout, still beyond, but ever
The vicious cyclone whirls, stirs.
Long hours of sleeping. A glass of whiskey
And a cube of ice, cracked and harsh and
Splashed out on the road, the same colour
As lamplight. Mind, cold, ice, spirit
In my glass, rushing through quiet lanes,
Rush'd through my eyes, my veins;
Starlight swirls and washes up my shirt,
Wrought with chills. My chest wonders aloud
At the pace of my heartbeat, the short
Breaths, gasping, drinking air, soft and uniform
And empty. A sort of present nonexistence
Whirls about my skin, my mind, my tears.
© Lewis Hyden
Written to "Gymnopedies Nos. 1-3" by composer Erik Satie.
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