But.
Beat to beat.
Repeat.
Twinkled twilight trickles its tessitura,
and it’s probably a sign, that it happened like it did,
and if it’s the too late when I’ve got that want to want to want,
then the i to the I’s been too long;
the slide-rule’s let me down.
and that gut-drop slip,
that tipping point,
this, this is the turn,
and storms drip rivulets down car windows,
tires kicking up mist in the river-swells.
I can.
I can.
I am.
and don’t,
don’t trust the i.
But.
Beat to beat.
Repeat.
Beat to beat,
after beat, and beat.
and it’s just, just i and I and home,
that self-writ trinity,
echo-callin’ that vinyl hum we love.
We got, we got, we got to love run.
We’ve got to run, love.
We’ve got to run, love.
But.
Beat to beat.
Repeat.
