Poetry of eyes

by the brook of your stare
I meet the sound
of your drowning,
alas’ so light and lasting
a word surfacing like sighs from your eyes
I make room and stand back
so you run into the invisible
curl of a mistake,
my child you’ve begotten
sadness and its truth
is more distance than those streaming
glares that leap from walls to illusions –
I recognize our mutual meaning
nowhere in this fog
the outline of solution
nor the source of our misery.

Nihilistic Poetry

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