siren

the infinite pursuit
of the sweet music in my ears,
that loud parade of death
down florida avenue.
sirens, migraine grenades
for the ill-prepared
and being that i never am
i at least become accustomed
to my fingers trembling after
each explosion of sound
as i stare into the back window
of acceptance or salvation,
to catch a glimpse of some
end not yet finished or done
hours ago. when my pursuit is
over, i'd like to go slowly
into the great night full of stars
shedding the sparkle of silver
tears one million years--trapped
in the nightmare of lights, blinking
my sanity six feet under