PROSPECTS

the subsonic texture of the voice foretelling our futures back then

clung to the hairs of our arms as miniature drops of words wrapped in deceptive honey

the destinations intoned for the frayed and wild souls among us

floated in front of our retinas like fierce unknown eggs ready to be cracked

fluorescent veins in our skulls lit up with holy grail rosewater joy

at the prospect of solving the mysterious equations

of the ramshackle and cryptic world underneath our feet