in these days of rumble and sawdust

thunder comes at you from both sides
sky and earth harmonizing lullabies
for the restless sleep of the enraged
meanwhile
around the edges brews another rhythm
in the dusk hours, blue-toned silhouettes
grumble along the grid paper of poorly maintained
city side streets
it is fall now and we are again surprised
at the cold out there
(and the cold in here)
and the new beat goes on
between the vibrations of subway cars
amongst crowds and weather patterns
i can hear it whenever i say "no"
whenever my bike tire hops a curb
and i can hear it scratching
between that modicum of loose ink
and the paper soft
as a sunrise you didn't expect to see
there's a kind of humdrum to the days in between
and i think
it'd be a lie to say we're not just waiting
even if we are penning this disaster
whatever the case
we don't know what this undoing will smell like
all the allegories we can nail together pass as potentials
but only because no matter how ugly we make them
these scale models still hold onto all the limbs we'll lose
all the tiny digits of our thousand silent hands
when it comes right down to what might happen
fuck it we have no idea
so we fight the good fight with our necks craned
searching
for the face of some immutable hipster messiah
who can make it all clear
who'll make nine o' ten of us just as pissed off
because
frankly
we didn't make it ourselves
we bought their fairy tale
we're convinced the world's a multiple choice question
and all we can do is say yes or no
well fuck that shit, i know
fuck it but i just don't know
how else to write a love song
so i'm just gonna focus on perfecting this series of unmarketable skills
like drawing clever things
playing blues scales on the guitar
and baking the odd batch of prefab cookies
and maybe one day
i'll do something truly remarkable