Sunk

     esoteric and incoherent;
within these discovery streets,
where beats
s
i
n
k as the sinister sky of
some resilient night
s
i
n
k
s too,
there’s the feeling that
before dew rises
we will unearth significance.
there is no time
in the midnight black of the firmament.
perpetual steam fuels our
trains of thought;
thought was once
wedged and blockaded
somewhere in-between rule and regulation.
when thought was freed he
burst
and sunk
into the subterranean core of the earth where
rhythm doesn’t deteriorate.