Lever that pulls
the rocket sets off
we're lost and 
the sound is ringing terribly.
And who was there,
in the sky
waiting for the perfect
trickle or whisper
of time to work it's way
onto the path you draw.
All bursts of energy,
no restraint.
A disconnect of plaintive
walk-along technology blues,
it's not quite hurting to stare.
Or I could always
state the way your sandal
claps against the brittle bottom 
of your foot.
The floor can't
stand the taste and
you won't waste another day
light that spills into your eyes.