Out of the screeching metallic shearing of a mechanic's wet dream, the taps of a tinkering rhythm pervade, as each car trucks by knocking the track like a bum piston. In the midst of the passing, you think you've found something. You've found something deeper in the noise. Until, almost suddenly, the metal shearing orchestra fades into humble vibration. The white fireworks of a salty marriage between steel and steel flicker once then disappear.
You walk after the train, slowly and deliberately, making sure not to step on the Tesla coiled tracks. The yellow light of a stop beckons you further. Further into the twisted tubes of the subway you go. There's drumming and harmonized singing in a language unknown and it reverberates through your echo chamber. It holds the pulse of humanity, you think. Out of the carnage, a heartbeat persists. The nationalistic tones of a guitar play a prideful anthem and there you are in awe of the contrast. Close your eyes.
It's a bright moon and it hangs over a cold sea. The fire on the sand burns toward the heavens and it illuminates thick cakey stripes of dark paint being pressed down your cheeks. When they lowered their axes on the ox, just before sundown as the orange glimmer of sun splashed across that ocean of glass, it sent chills through your spine and made you weak at the knees. Its knees buckled. You fell simultaneously with the beast. They hoisted you up and brushed the wet sand off your forehead, rubbing the skin raw. Keep those eyes closed.
We ate well that night and didn't speak a word. The carcass had long been devoured by our mouths and the flame. You lay on the beach listening to waves lap the shore, breaking rocks into pebbles and pebbles into sand. The glint of the stars sparkled from orbit. Somewhere, a space shuttle took blast. In a cloud of gas, it pushed off the Earth and you felt the sand shift. It felt like an hour glass, you said. You said it felt like a chunk had fell through. We couldn't understand.
The next morning, I followed you into the trees. They were tall Kapok with stringy vines. You climbed up like a clumsy chimp. Somehow you made it up, after losing your footing many times. I lost you in the leaves and then you reappeared. Your red back was glistening sweat and reflected the sun like a mirror. On top of that tree, I saw your eyes. They peered through the sea. You jumped. I lost you in the leaves.
It took me an hour, but I found your body. Your leg was twisted in the spiraled brush and you lay face up with eyes open. You said that the canopy wasn't thick enough for us ground dwellers. I listened to you breathe. The trees swayed beneath the ever changing sky and you said you wanted to cry. I tried to understand.
You had climbed on the platform and were sitting next to a man. He strummed a guitar as a child cried. The boy's wet face was forever locked onto yours as his mother pulled him away. The man closed his eyes and let out a wail, digging into the tight coils of the strings with his dirty fingernails. It sounded like the sky or at least like the wind. A gush of musty breeze blew through your hair, as a train rolled through the tubing. Just as soon as its doors open, digital bells rang twice. "Doors closing."
http://rodent.bandcamp.com/
