Odd Jottings: The Port Hope Period     (Serious)

***Ongoing Piece. Last Added: May 23***


Dead cells make up the dust,
Dead stars spark our liquid lust;
Dead deeds flake to a crust,
Dead thoughts work up the must.

But I will Show you
That even in the mark of rust,
There can be a lurk of Trust;
That the pickings of the beak are Just.

For everything now real,
To which you solidly wheel,
Was once a thief in the field...

That given no choice but to steal,
It was Taught the concept of Feel;

And with a leaping laugh,
At the instant it was Asked,
To give back the boastful wield
Of its’ all most stolen yield.



^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

nightfall in new walls
absorption of foreign dust
fallen to the floor
pillowed in heavy limbs.

the spiders awaken
activate their crinkled span
suddenly shrivelingly descend
toward invisible destination.

they are my guardians
positioned to the corners
solid of my mind,

to gobble up all organized thing
drawn by the issues of my decay.