Steppin Time

crimes violent wires feet firth rhythm alone throne thing pinkness part saying

crimes of my own perpetration against
the violent crush of loving all that i hold
using fraying bits of copper wire to bind it all to me,
while i dance on feet calloused and narrow
along a desolate stretch of firth.
...
i keep the rhythm
with my hands alone,
beating time to a lonely procession to the throne,
that thing i hurt and where i try to sit.

too big for my britches, the pinkness too bright.

but i may yet part the waters of all the rubbish.
i'm not deluded or cocky, i'm just saying...