Calm

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. Decrepit three points of light, their two sisters silent, have witnessed titanic anguish. One cracked, all desperately clung to by dust.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. The rotor aches the blades along their eternal course. Its duty rattles the whole along an unintended yaw and pitch.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. A machine, baroque, designed to hold back the ceaseless march of the fourth dimension’s entropy in heat.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. It is the sun in a land of the lost irrational. Oh, how much has been broken. A million and one ideas stretched and warped in a visually disturbing manner, easily read under the light of the crooked machine’s light. The will of insomnia made manifest.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. The floor an ocean. Worn away flowing one direction: the shore a bed. Wade out.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. Seals of purity, faith, and charity sewn in before the pitch.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. The pitch. The depth plummets as darkness cuts in fractious umbras. Step forward and away from the heat. Bone cold- someone’s expression only caught in x-ray.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. Float into the pitch. The attic above with no access. The uncertain thing that matured there denies visitors. No one knows what it is. No one wants to see it.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. Shift left. Confusion awash with flecks of clarity. The pristine forest of pine and overcast shines anemic light over it. Matter lost. Expunged with force. A coat of pitch of its own, painting the floor and walls. No accent to accompany, it is its own tone.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. How much can one hold till they bursts. How much insult can one sustain till they decay to cancer? How much can one abhor the chemical elements gifted to us by creation till they dance in wild torsades.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun. Stress subsides. It is all normal. Once a panic, now buried in the chest as a fear that hugs your form, just behind you, just out of sight.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun.

Hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun, hik-and-dun.

All I can do is exhume calm. All I can do is push fate and hope chaos in theory guides us true. All I hear is the hik-and-dun.