angst cycle (iii) — [з] (ii)

but now it’s just
an ordinary sky
nearly

the dissettlement of distress
the intensity remains
always trip
the archaeology
over

just it’s half a faded cloud now
drifting away

well
this is the hope
to call it a cloud
really
is silly

it doesn’t go away
there is no horizon
inside

rather it slowly
like an apple
left on the shelf
it rots
rots

is rotting
rotting

i wish i could flick
my wavelength
of time