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
the 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