A Lacking Rhythm

Doors open and doors close.
The wheels spin at 95
But we’re in the wrong lane
And 100 will surely mean death.
The mirrors fixed on me for I care not what happens behind.
And all the note reads is “Look up Mulholland.”
Ticks run out.
A few hours past due.
You will wake tomorrow late and rude.
The third hour awaits the man of no sleep.
You lack authenticity.
He protects all.
Forgives all.
No need for apology.
The top of the mountain oasis provides a discovery, a peace.
Even just the picture of the future streets and hills.

Look at the date.
Look at the date.
This must be the fate that September brings.

A 360 in sense, but not much of a turn around.
Déjà vu, but not born from dreams.
Will mates be mates and will friends be friends?
I am higher than.
With each creeping day the cup slowly fills with coins.
The water arises.
Black holes open.