Edge

Joshua Hanson

Walk down the narrow corridor of broken
Cold tile floor - stained with tears - gauntlet
Lined up behind glass, eager men wait with wide eyes.
Each on holds a black phone receiver in hand, jumping the gun of trapped in a cage.
Beats not missed as a young, pretty girl walk past, banging on glass, hand gestures and screams echo
Stools are screwed into chipped flooring of forgotten
Broken dreams, scarred stories just beginning to form on bruised tile.
Count 1 - 2 - 3. Tired, blood shot eyes stare through the frame of smudge.
Hands reach out. Fingers touch. A heart is felt beating through tempered thick shield.
Stay just like that.
Moments are measure by big gray industrial clock on the wall, high enough that that all know their time is running out.
Time beats down on your back - your heart.
Blue eyes of sparkle with fleck of tender child swim in pools of remembering before.
Sadness creeps around edges - others have mad e a life of time behind glass.
A runner sits behind stories formed in a long-ago glass fed to you by your mother
Scars begin to formulate when a child is give a knife that goes down hard - then goes down smooth after a time.
A knife becomes dull when scraped over bone and sinew
Sharp becomes dull until a chasm etched into a life is deep
Running a finger over the edge of muscle - find stories of blood and blue-eyed ocean.
Say good-bye - the stars hold you
May I serve you a liquid posion -
It’s right here - a wooden vessel
Be - tray - for - All.