To Lick Old Wounds

The sediment that has been sifted is left to drift and settle where it pleases. Or so it seems for now. The world has gone to seed waiting for the Fall's imminent daily slumber post-career. Asphalt and flashing lights; the Solo weary from tasks only each can bear itself. Ashen eyelids show neglect and hide the waning resolve of dreams found in Venice or Cairo.

The pulsating hum of useless inventions keeps the Modern modest. And yet, rarely has rhythm been locked in step with man so well. Gapless - not one - snapshots of durable minutes keeping the Strings taught. Vibrating with fear and worry and doubt. Stone washed moments tried and true. The United States of Americans have never gone so suddenly still.

It burns.