deep time poetry

How a book
of history and deep time
carves to certainty
the doom
that is inches or eons away

we subsist
clothed & saluting
as speck, blip
so this is a cosmic process

love and civilization
the means to forget
the end

I think of sex
and a daub of paint
on loose sandstone

I wonder,
the pride of grass?

as mankind climbs
like vine
weather slackens
the skeleton merely
scars the brick

my words,
how strange they hunt
the vanishing core
of things

these temperamental chords
that tremble momentarily
and regress
to sole silence







AbSURd PoEtry

One thought on “strange

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