after

he asks me if i know what’s next —
right after we are done.
if i am following the tracks
not walked by anyone
if i am picturing in mind
the afterlife of sound,
if i’m the one to seek and find,
or i’m already found

so i sit down to take my time
and find the proper words:
the path, i answer, is the dime
to feed the minds of nerds
as random as the choices get
the ones we daftly pick
sometimes you only have to le
your consequences speak

the mental hangover this time —
this one comes early, too
that’s when the walls you’ve quickly climbed
made sure you overdo
then comes a very silent spot,
a really tiny town,
a place to carefully unknot
your tools for melting down

this time it gets you well-prepared,
but you can choose again:
get back to what you haven’t said,
unfold, unhide, unchain,
so this is what he gets to hear:
the sound i really love
is when we’re canceling our fear
and all of the above