The last day dozes in the grave you made it, dug with small surrenders, with hidden sacrifice. The scent of loam, the sound of the shovel, the depths that you have yet to plunder: this is the wonder that bottom holds. This is how far there is yet to fall. A sunken sun, a broken heart, a dream with seams that pull apart. The charted stars seem too close for a future that will never start.
The night abides odd visitors, chalk marked fence posts and the layered prayers poured into the gutter. Your every oath is a mouthful of marbles, cold and clattering like the repartee of pavement and teeth. Such a poor repast and the hunger does not leave-- the tension between ache and appetite blinds every sense but sight. So the moon is a crescent and Venus rests within that shiny crust. So the clouds gather like like-feathered birds only to leave in the vagaries of slumber. You crowd every eaves with the press of this absence.
This loneliness outlasts all the other feelings, the joys and terrors that weigh down the wires. It is slow and it is patient. It has sold each soul for this awful endurance. THe hours creep away into the thorny shrubs, they fly and flee in every weathered direction away. And it is only you, tethered to shadowed pavement. And it is only you, chained to the clamor of dust and the blank kiss of plastic. Its wings stretch, they gather you in their blue embrace. You speak, or you dont. Knowing there is no-one willing to know the difference
The night abides odd visitors, chalk marked fence posts and the layered prayers poured into the gutter. Your every oath is a mouthful of marbles, cold and clattering like the repartee of pavement and teeth. Such a poor repast and the hunger does not leave-- the tension between ache and appetite blinds every sense but sight. So the moon is a crescent and Venus rests within that shiny crust. So the clouds gather like like-feathered birds only to leave in the vagaries of slumber. You crowd every eaves with the press of this absence.
This loneliness outlasts all the other feelings, the joys and terrors that weigh down the wires. It is slow and it is patient. It has sold each soul for this awful endurance. THe hours creep away into the thorny shrubs, they fly and flee in every weathered direction away. And it is only you, tethered to shadowed pavement. And it is only you, chained to the clamor of dust and the blank kiss of plastic. Its wings stretch, they gather you in their blue embrace. You speak, or you dont. Knowing there is no-one willing to know the difference
dwam:
thank you !
luscious: