Riding the edge of a coin
Tumbled emotions clang hard off reality, leaving behind
traces of remorse
Bumbled commotions, slang card, too real to me, heaving me
to places way off course
Can’t get a thought straight, weak signals rule our fate and
darling you know we must get goin’
Then everything slides into place, the eyes on mine see the
ones on your face, riding the edge of a coin
Sliding through mechanisms, a series of complex schisms, dropping
to rest in a box of steel
Dumped, counted, and sorted, every single move reported, with
little thought of how we feel
Statistics on a list somewhere, bought and sold, swapped for
fare, fancied coming in, not goin’
Darkness runs away, a glow comes over the place, the eyes on
mine see the ones on your face, riding the edge of a coin
Tim Windisch
07/31/2023
