alea iacta est

yeah years teeth in sun

piles up

out there


which is a breath
half air
half tear



obedient bodies die
these melodies
of tragedies

nothing more
than an idea of


this geology of memory


breaks inevitable like waves

on far distant moon



unable to alter
the course
of inane atoms



the waves keep crashing
on the thinning stone
that life
half-asleep in chance.

AbSURd PoEtry

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