deepundergroundpoetry.com
Day by Day
Day by day
there’s less and less of me.
A token body, I.
Dissolved.
Flute boned.
The dull solidity I see
reflected in the looking glass
is all a lie.
And what was Eliot’s surmise?
That we are Hollow men?
More like
grey ghosts too tired to wail,
straw things,
no more than shufflings
in a dry cellar.
At night
and in the morning light
I walk with them.
there’s less and less of me.
A token body, I.
Dissolved.
Flute boned.
The dull solidity I see
reflected in the looking glass
is all a lie.
And what was Eliot’s surmise?
That we are Hollow men?
More like
grey ghosts too tired to wail,
straw things,
no more than shufflings
in a dry cellar.
At night
and in the morning light
I walk with them.
Published 5th Dec 2022
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