Tired Moons - We Are Always Becoming Ourselves

Radio Silence

it comes in waves
and goes in blades
lost in the static
we gasp for air
please remember to rewind
in the whirring lake
we are made of artifacts
the color draining
whispers sung with eyes closed
in the pines
a distress call
broadcast on the wires
that tie us here
a swirling, a hissing
luminescent
a clearing with seven oaks
your name written in blood
and my raw hands
we have nowhere to go
long bent to dead metal
an empty field
after another
no transmission
not a voice
but pale
rust in the evening
we mistake for gold
carry it all.

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