Wednesday, September 28, 2011

060: Death and the Antiquaries

Island within
a scattered archipelago,
low tides still expose you,
winds erode
and waves grind,
while a random snapshot
mimics serenity.
Leaden beams
carrying the wounded,
so fascinating
from afar,
the reduced bodies
of the once mighty,
a fleeting relief,
away from the fall.
The bridge behind your back,
only floods will reveal
its final pulse
and its absence will mirror
the screaming void.
Time is no friend
in the echoing caves
of this freakshow,
so I hoped blindly,
come spring anew,
they would clone me
using DNA from littered
cigarette butts.