Wednesday, May 16, 2012

The Well

Pinhole to the sky -
Dry spaces lit by fire suddenly struck
by fits of weeping into me:
I shall hold it all.
My stomach ever-expanding
bloated, gaunt
For want of things non-existent,
Since ice ages ever the same
Heaving and sighing of seasons.

Be not awakened to these plummeting
Cavernous depths all streaked with algae,
But return to me with desires those
Pieces of earth-core etched with lost grandeur
And your longing will dissolve with centuries
Into iron. 

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