heedless and whirling beneath a cold blue ever after
motions towards an inner earth as we are flung farther into space
bright and endless with a quivering dark,
unwilling to leave the least of it, the minor
crescendos of delirium, blinking and without sight
all sea before us and not the loamy land to level
lamentations, precious without the cards of fate to feed
the drowned men in their moldy vessels
flesh and otherwise.
the urgency of some simple thought, the
necessity of the cold glass in hand, remembering how we held
the cold glasses in our
hands that reach, languid and tremulous over years of concrete
footings, groping at dry marsh, fleeting over sisps of stalks and chaff, crumbled
senses of perfumed lands, reeking now of smoke and
char, sucking at hollowed cheeks and bare
sun-bleached bones, small rib cages in which organs
were once suspended.
eating a hunger as clouds gnaw at the emptiness of the sky
vast and inconsolable for its loneliness, a leviathan creeping behind
the arc of the breath above, the dome of our searing burning hovel.
fire saws and gutters in the winds that call
the ashen air home