Afternoon

like the fiddle of the morning
the sun is again gone
I don't mind today,
i'll just sleep through the hours
of my death

still, still,
the light is in my room
I have a film strip in my head
it's playing over and over
not burning away this time
not underexposed
it's vibrant, and shifting

in it I am in a car.
the golden sun is warming
my scalp, my eyes drowsy
a song is playing, one of love and
simple sunshine nap moments.

oh, to spend the rest of my
life moving
constant vertigo
I say this now because it's something I'm not
we're all good at that, aren't we?

I am an attempt
an attempt at happiness or joy
an attempt of love
an attempt of gravity
I willingly bring all this into me

and yet, and yet.
the fiddle of the morning,
the hazy white light of the window
I slept most the day
until the drumming made me wake.