On the Upswing

On the Upswing
no one cares
when you're on the upswing
feeling fine
like your shell is made from wood and wire
the phone rang more
when you were driving toward madness
now that you're peaceful
you washed up hack
nobody knocks on doors
or calls your name from the street below
phones don't ring
messages don't get sent
now it's quiet
silent
i can hear the grasshoppers farting
outside my window
across the street
in the thick brush
watch stops periodically
putting it up to your ear
hoping that you hear a ticking
because no ticking
is worth ticking
right?
Fucking right.