To sleep through its entirety,

this world clinging to me,

to pass up its absurdity,

and flash by in obscurity;

A couplet,

a trumpet,

wings ripped from a body;

A prophet,

a puppet,

the line thins out steadily;

To keep time to the marching feet,

trotting before and after me,

to be ignored and put to sleep,

and pass by flailing blindly;

A sunset,

a trinket,

sunk too deep to retrieve;

A target,

a portent,

no skin on my knees