Mile Thirty-Seven

Wandering subject,

what is the quickest

way to oblivion? 

Tenured in the crotch 

of your mad disposability,

I wonder all beings 

left behind into a

cascading, downward 

flight of my own. 

A rope of sand 

renewing liminal

rescue dissolves

in front of you.

Further ahead,

will you still wonder 

yourself what all

the fuss is about,

the elusive safety?