a song for now

a painted still
flowing, pumping, airy carrying still
in the bubble’s brief breath,
air trapped, trembling at the edge
neither the neckline nor the freshly paved conduits,
just the thing itself: slithering, popping

either neither wither.
sharpened teeth slither
pain instanced, corpse shivers
pool not as deep, red river,

caged, yet somehow still alive within it, dwelling long among barriers with edges and thresholds that promise passage but have lost their way, the cause itself dissolved into forgetting. there’s a deep, uninvoked being beneath all this, unafraid and unforced, though the terror of release lives there too, that paradox of holding on when letting go might be the only honest thing. let me tend to the exterior then, the visible margins where i can still offer something. i’ll care for what shows, for the edges you can see, while that restless thing inside keeps its vigil in the dark, patient and caged and somehow still singing.

some parts with their thingies, a song for now

Daily Prompts for FreeWriters
Prompt: either