It scares me,
how I blink and
it's gone.
A mirage of
the midday heat.
The hundred stones collapse
in my mind, those lives
I tip over and annotate.
The empty spaces
between everything-
I want to be buried with
my lover to dissolve
as the same being.
Absolve the space.
The apparent abyss in blank lines
and unmarked clocks.
Unless the minutes are denoted,
I fear they do not exist.
Huddled to the metal vent
I hear the emptiness in the
ductwork. I guess I'll blink
and it will disappear- the
skeletal spines bound in thick colors.
One is called 'Life' and I believe
it because there are no clocks
with minutes, there is nothing
without 'empty'.
[this is really cryptic, sorry. Written after a hot, hot journey to the Granville cemetery. After our return I laid on the floor of the mostly deserted library and feared life. This is the half-assed result.]
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