Where are you? was all the voices said.
Did they come from the PA, the telephone,
or were they the voices of your head?
The past are the voices of the dead
or the eternal sleep of living, dusting
from the pages you read.
Always seeking more to feed, from
the cracked and sideways spread beyond
the cover story of the ever present dread.
Where are you? the last words he remembered
hearing before everything went black. The echo
like hiking trips he had taken as a child. He
tried to answer, but quite simply could not.
Was it water or air or trauma or sand holding
his cognoscence back, he couldn’t tell, all
he could see was black, almost like rubbing
his eyes, but the pressure was not his.
Where are you? Where do you think?
Get here. Time is fadin’ like the night.
This night. Here. Time tested, tired
tradition, or lost mission? Dismissing
this condition for excuses of just
pissing away days. Here this place
goes, fillin’ up, now that the town’s full.
Brand new righteousness abound.
Wait. Where are you? she sent again
but he never texted back. It was time
she went to sleep anyway. She had to
work in the morning, and could not
stand to wait up for him again. So she closed her
eyes, mind racing, trying to remember
what she considered better times. She knew
it was always the same. Always the
mangled excuse wrapped up in some
lame claim, that would not survive any kind of
scrutiny, Funday to Dunday.