deepundergroundpoetry.com

LIFE

Sending signs of beginnings
Of Being and of endings
Life is not the passing of time

The dust collects on books
It blows in from the street
Old crevices of skin a scirocco
Contouring eyes hollowed by fear
The eyes they see brittle bones
Of a once gentle elegant man

They see sea bills scooping krill
Oak leaves leaving Autumn trees
A grape raised to raisin

And the deceits and regrets
That cancer a man and whisper
Lest the silent listen

A life is not the passing of time
Dead skin or dead sea rippling
But his restless dreams billowing
Off a distant desert warming
The seed of those yet to be born
Written by whale
Published
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