Before people and machines.
Before the broken and angry tried to hang on to everything.
Before the music stopped and turned around.
Before there was no one left who knew that sound.
In this place there are blues and reds
and autographs from people who came and went.
There’s neon in the oddest shapes
and faces that just stay in place.
There’s eyes that never seem to focus
and can’t see the forest from the locust.
Were I to stop and wonder why
I fear that I might realize
that this is all there ever is.
This is all there ever is…

The folks floating overhead
I never really cared for them
and I know they do not think of me
A single locust in the trees.

There goes a floating twisting feather.
As goes the ship, so goes the weather.
A reliable indicator
ever looping generator.
Here and there and back and when
we have no faces and no friends.
From where we fall another man
will rise as if were always them.
Broken by their mad machines
broken by their own mad dreams
and hope that in a memory
we’ll see the locust from the trees.

-Asellus Claudum