Fear Ln.

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Trevor Wentt

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The sun wakes
While its rays are distorted by a blanket of clouds and typical Seattle rains
And with eyes fixed on windshield, I lay
Back bent and pressed against these stone seats within the walls of this Civic
And I lay
Bundled in a sleeping bag that is not my own
In a city that is not my own
Writhing in tensions that are not–my–own
And I lay
Consumed with an anxiety foreign to my frame
One trajectory slain while the other hangs
Unsettled on fatal or future
Still these wounds needs sutures
And my breaths grow shallow
As the darkness fills these gallows
And I know I should be singing hallowed
But all I feel is hollowed–and hopeless
And fear is a tangible presence
Any forward movement seems like a step toward menace
And I'm left wondering if I've yet to pay some penance
Because I remain unsettled as an alienated tenant
And in every attempt to find some remnant of home
I find myself growing increasingly alone
And I'm struggling to believe in the purpose of these bones
It's like, "Let the next participant cast another stone!"
And while the West sings a symphony of "Leaves!,"
The east closes ear to "I can't breathes!"
And I'm exhausted from trying to sow these seeds
Into rocky soil ensnared by weeds
And I don't know where home is…
In one city I hold love deep for a few
But cannot stand another second of aggression toward minor hues
Nor lack of movement toward forward progression
Nor empty opportunity for romantic connection
And some say this is fear, but it feels like intuition:
An extra-physical awakening to redlining conditions
Dilation to the darkness of this choice of prison
With hope clawing at something beyond vision
What can be built on foundations of oppression?
Or ignorance?
Or blind privilege?
And as the rain covers my fogged windshield, I remember this truth:
images are developed in the darkest of rooms

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