Song of Days

there is an underground calm in our air
where ‘decay’ should give so much cause
for anxious collapse, a stone frozen shattering
why no one speaks, says so much
concerning the endlessly turning
return of the day?
in a ripping piercing singular instant
I lay quiet as my eyes are screamed
from their sockets.
O God, you joker, you git.
what in your name were you thinking
my hands warm, my feet dying of frost
thousands of tamed and blinking*
rectangular souls, standing aloft

Why now do I shiver?
hecatombs of days await me,
precarious hecatombs piled behind
but all is quiescent, only aroused
by a passing glance out the window at dusk.
and a careful light.

(*see Zarathustra’s Prologue)

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Send your life out in multiple directions like a galaxy shedding stars. Always come back to hope and try to thrive. All posts, (poems, stories, essays, etc.) here are composed by my hand, unless noted otherwise. Please ask if you'd like to use one.

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