i can feel its presence
and we need no dark to
grasp its attendance.
a rudiment:
darting through,
my death, imagined.
rivers continuing,
pressing stones now atilt.
memory's rigodon -
heart and mind,
puppeteering quadrille.
this is where all of ourselves
go, purloined, deep
in rumination.
the passing of all things,
taking with them,
our laughter. and it continues
in our body, endlessly taking
space and displacing our
inward-breaking haunts.
it is no fate nor
solitary consignment:
it is natural,
it is default: pain is.
and wherever it goes,
lovelessly, we are
dragged
along.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
i can feel its presence
and we need no dark to
grasp its attendance.
a rudiment:
darting through,
my death, imagined.
rivers continuing,
pressing stones now atilt.
memory's rigodon -
heart and mind,
puppeteering quadrille.
this is where all of ourselves
go, purloined, deep
in rumination.
the passing of all things,
taking with them,
our laughter. and it continues
in our body, endlessly taking
space and displacing our
inward-breaking haunts.
it is no fate nor
solitary consignment:
it is natural,
it is default: pain is.
and wherever it goes,
lovelessly, we are
dragged
along.
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