a
We are
all
ebbing towards
our Origin.
The only
palpable
reality
is that of
the fluxes
underneath
my skin.
The only
lullaby
is that of
my own pulse
which I
no longer feel
in my dermis.
I seize the icy
panic
& thrust it
between
my shoulderblades,
but my ossified skin
shrieks with pleasure.
Squandering
& meandering
self-seekers /
twisted
nostalgic
collectors ─
we all learn
to wield
that deadly weapon
─sooner or later─
we kill by
absence,
which is
nothing but
remoteness
in time.
Where have
all the
Good Samaritans
gone?
Life is
Love is
the unconditional
Giving of
Time.
a
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