festering like the fungus on rotting fruit
moulded to the shadow



torn from it
motion making it's stop
the flatline
an event horizon
        and   i  
  looked


blank became the canvas
as existence shrunk from view
and i saw it all;
and it was glorious

but the curtains were closing
momentary was the sight bestowed
which fleeted faster than life
from this withering device of animation

elapsing back to nothing
a fade to black

A ceaseless motion
hither and yonder
like the jumbling of blind ants
in a narrow path
of wet pheromones.

Backbreaking labor
A cruel slaver
lashing his whip
that cracks painfully
drawing blood from the back
of the hapless wretch.

A joke that amuses no one
An insufferable itch
demanding to be scratched
so hard that it bleeds

Then in a moment
snuffed.

Asphyxiated and forgotten.

Becalmed
Suspended in brackish undulations
Dunes shield this lagoon speculation
From seething currents

A repeating line of patterns of something deeper then memory
It's the motion of waves of wonder of maybe something like pain
A wanting to lessen to soften to gently lay my head down
It's not what's happening now

The mountain grows much slower than your perception of the mountain growing taller, as the dynamics of the sea, which sculpts the earth beneath your feet, speaks—summoning the breeze: isn't it surreal, living on God's pottery wheel?

We saw a world
bruised and beautiful
The world kept moving forward
constantly in motion
while ours fell apart