Aftershock

Buried beneath this junkyard

Beyond the rusted vehicles and appliances:

rickshaws filled with faded photographs;

busses with the scarves of lovers;

sports cars with peeling paraphernalia—

beyond the corroded gears of sciences

that no longer seem to apply—

between the weeds of redundant grievances;

the bricks of houses unfinished;

the discordant tangle of tectonic soils…

Yes, somewhere in this chaos of dreams—

and nightmares—short-circuited,

this clump of grey matter,

there must be a library:

a code that connects the dots,

that makes sense

that gathers the warzone that is my life

into something coherent—
 
something grounding;

to rebuild upon

and try again