I'm in the tallest area,
no higher than a fathomless well
to trap oneself in,
in wide, deep questions.
My ribcage opened
and out came the moon
harvested in the daylight,
splashing yellow-orange flickers
across the dark gulf of my soul--
like autumn stars against the darkness.
Perhaps I care too much
about the facts:
the "truth",
I've lost faith in that.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
I'm in the tallest area,
no higher than a fathomless well
to trap oneself in,
in wide, deep questions.
My ribcage opened
and out came the moon
harvested in the daylight,
splashing yellow-orange flickers
across the dark gulf of my soul--
like autumn stars against the darkness.
Perhaps I care too much
about the facts:
the "truth",
I've lost faith in that.
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