Break

walking back across
the frozen tar
a river Styx in
its own right
light blinded me
but I heard a
familiar sound
calling from the south

I could hear the
song of pistons
struggle with their
task at hand
I could hear my
own bones being
fed to those metal
teeth and gnashed
and torn to bits
I could hear the
slicing of my
body the cutting
of my arms the
breaking of my bread

that song sung
me back to my
vehicle in where
I reclined and
pondered the many
patterns of the
waves of water
above me in the sky