Listen;

I'm caught reeling, so regrettably,
between the annex of time and space.
Beyond the seventh seal
of a heart unaccounted for,
there is a drumline of nothings.
It is the third.
And the fourth.
And the fifth.
Listen; I'm stacking them up so effortlessly,
with no sense to care.
There are beats,
but none ever strike hard
right past the left shoulder
..and I have no wish to leave any mark whatsoever.
Bruised limbs, soul long worn-out beneath sheets,
they find all consolation in the lack of idle time.