The bush burns but is unconsumed
unconsumed by that which makes it fiery
faltering in consumptive orange haze
Consumption's steely tang:
the flavor of hemoglobin
half a molecule in my mouth
unconsumed
Consumption's fiery wash
across the dry and cracking leaves
undermined and diminished
undermined and diminished
but unconsumed
The smoke's brief reign in sinal realms
the smell of extinguished candles.
The smoke's brief drift into humid skies,
the smell of extinguished candles.
The smoke's brief haze will evanesce
and blurring gray rises from its nest.
Memory won't rest.
Memory won't rest.
Night after night like a five-car pileup,
like a million smells in a tiny space.
Like a tiny fire in a Pyrex cage,
like a litany that I've heard before.
A familiar mode, a familiar tone,
a familiar drone rises to the sky.
Like a motor's hum, like a day that's done,
like smoke that drifts, burns into the night.
The smoke's brief haze will evanesce
and blurring gray rises from its nest.
Memory won't rest.
Memory won't rest.
I'm in the laundromat: the clothes spin different ways
but all the same: end over end, end over end,
end over end. They chase their tails like memories
that play in me.
A cycle's spin to spin away.
(chorus)
And on TV lines scan endlessly: too fast to view,
not as fast as you. Spin different ways, end over end,
end over end. Spin different ways, audacious craze.
The TV's bare, no content there.
A cycle spins and never cares.