Way Station

from by Even Hand



I will leave
My life's going to be clean
Electricity pure,
and coursing through the walls of a precise house
Here there are leaves in the corners,
in cursed autumnal light,
and the outlets are selective

At the edge of the plains,
where the spheres meet,
where the future churns,
there are vague instructions
and at last a haze of gestating images

When I leave good things are going to happen to everything
Silverblue rails braid in another dawn
A hidden joke in the Arrivals board
and a rolodex of strange text
Standing microphone on a book of numbers
Proofs carved into the stall walls
The phone rings but my hands...
Forget it
Every line out is a broken route
and every sound a portent

She said I'm already here but that can't be so
I can hear the drone song of my departure
surging out from the governing pylons,
the healing air coming over, eddies of warring narratives
Must I uh... move the station?
Must I make bleed the environs?
There have always been clues
and I've long-suspected a game, a code,
an equation I must unlock

When I leave I will have no rest and no rivals
My actions will be fluid and right and beyond judgment
Storm geometry no more,
only my micropatterned machine-woven no-place

I wait sunstained in the long powdered windows
It's been both one day and ten million


from Sighted, released May 30, 2016


tags: rock New York


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Even Hand Brooklyn, New York

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