it means that the howling is unending
the plaintive rush of icy air
a flow of tentative fingers filling our pockets
wrapping tendrils of muted light over pursed lips.
Now it bulges, grows completely filling every space
even the obscure creases where we hid secrets,
but they're safe,
blemished, warped with age and depraved silence.
Chromium steel, tinged with radiant orange
builds from pitted woes, awed by a new sun.
The old lies rust in effigy while ancient laws reborn
defy gravity
hurl concentrically amid wagon wheel spokes
and burrow into the fruited lives of our elders.
Bestill, only the dust lives forever
even it swirls on an axis
of an others design.
2 comments:
very cool...really like this from The old lies line on...burrow into the fruited lives of our elders is a great line too....even dust revolves around something else...smiles.
Your writing often makes me feel like I'm lost in an aural hall of mirrors. Like now.
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