when the owl breaks the light beam in

a nights dream ride. am i seeing in slow, 

am i driving too fast for the sound to

finally break past time spent following

straight lines to death.

behind my eyes in a parallel sky she

belongs in the shapes in the clouds try

to take me to the grounded ones

skyward there's a fog that casts a

planetary haze to hide the white lined

aggression in our eyes.



in a season of collapsed lungs, there's 

a dark holiday and we are following 

straight lines to death.