"will all be forgiven?"

"will all be forgiven?"

clicking like a ballpoint pen
in its socket

my brain makes too much noise
for me
to sleep.
even with the radio
(i should sell it)
on repeat.

swaying to rythms,
i hope today
works out better
than this
2:42 circling of gears
--teeth grinding--
nothing quite fits
(she whispers).

will the music
turn itself off
as i write
this poem?

haunting cello
playing burntorange
hangs in the air
longer than the moon.