Friday, April 1, 2016

Too Late

We float
Above a field

Seeming empty

We label normal
The empty underneath

Some are always speculating fantastically
Numbingly for gain

While innocent despite great effort
Simpler listeners toil more urgent-quiet
Knowing chance is always birthing monsters

From this field seeming empty
Ancient seething pestilential dread
Permits all
Meets no devouring corpuscles or savior birds

Too Late
Spreads invisibly inaudibly

Detonating compounding exponents
Banging Out in self surpassing shock

This field seeming empty
Now waves of burning breathless devouring sky
Noticed briefly

No comments:

Post a Comment

Feel free. Post a Comment!