Windows

Stitched together quilted and sparse
a loose collective of sequels
a long strings of losses
a fading format
snapshots

I wait for the disco automatic
a quarter in the slot
a selection made
a weak output
static

a sum not equal to the parts
heel toe heel toe
six quick skips and dagger stares
there is a tiger in the shag rug
he knows you are weak
he can smell the designer cologne
and empathy.

i have made a colossus
though hollow and fragile
you can see it from the rooftop
it's shadow falls on only me
it is warmer in the shade
and there in no need for sunblock

waltzing alone but never lonely
a solid empty built from the remains
of those things one loves and keeps
the scratch that heals into runes
i sing the ancient language and
keep my enemy close enough
to look out through his windows.