I travel through this day,
counting the hours
and all the spaces in between.
And against the background of my living is the sound,
the faraway chink,
of silver coins dropping.
I will betray you with a kiss and never lose sleep,
while gazing at my awards and moving in circles closed tight to those who will not fall,
will not bend.
An opulent window-dressing the only landscape I crave, to walk wrapped in neon warmth,
and if the shriveling behind my ribs twinges I can ignore it.
I have ignored much more…
All will fade and the deepest cut is the only scar that remains silver.
I count no tomorrow,
no higher plane,
and my only steadfast companion,
the only constant,
is that faraway music of the coins.