Static Soft

I would

wade through 

every postmodern

sunset 

to find you

on the overpass.

The quick silence

of chemical wind 

on your lips,

wisps of atmosphere

snaking through your hair,

facing a blaze

unrivaled,

even in your gawky

bones, 

they rattle as we run

through the falling sky.

A somber

reflection cast in 

metallic puddles

splishing 

through them in rubber galoshes

which echo radio waves

to our feet.

Absorbed

in static sunrise

the grey dawns

on misted lawns

we are forever jumping fences

running the elliptical patterns

of logic as

it seems,

our broken hearts

pumping broken blood.

Our lungs cloaked 

in television waves,

rippling off the 

shiny cars

glinting in some realist's dreams.

I breathe static into

you, a life aura

of soft sounds 

as your limping body

stands smug

against a biohazard blur

dying out in the western sky.

[Based on events from the novel White Noise]