Three

"What Is?"

Loveless swarms in empty illusions
swallow me whole like hordes of stars
Erased by the fog's night
Through moments of glass
And the liquid made of breath
Shattered in spaces hung on the wall
Torn down by two fish
And their revelations of death
Doors will open keys
And pens rejoice at random noise
While the wave becomes the horse
Riding the back of meaning
Where the end leaves us all behind
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Jon

Page Copyright © 1997 tara

Poem Copyright © 1997 Jon