you'll never hear me say it
afraid (afraid, afraid, afraid)
of the shameful echo—
evidence of the void
which owes you no call-backs,
which does not care.
afraid
afraid
afraid
afraid
of inelastic collisions
suffered in series until the fated
point of no return (the tragedy
of grandiosity burned down
to null). afraid?
afraid, afraid-afraid-afraid-afraid
of the instinctual stillness of fear,
the wild animal spinelessness
designed for petty survival
over excellence—afraid
of footsteps—afraid
of writing in ink—afraid
of telling the truth.
afraid of a dawn to dusk wasted
on spoiled choice
and static friction.
afraid
of fruitless greed,
of hungers unanswered.
afraid—