Sunday, 25 January 2015

following a rising moon

waters perfect on the shore of the infinite
in peaks, endless blank snows upon endless blank
there is no colour
there has been fear, so much fear that the mind could not compute
instead, by rivers of nonsense, a hundred thousand men watch fruit
and waiting night waits for the day to be gone
as countless days sit with night for the dawn
we hold a fear that this moment will end
not seeing that conclusions weave and wend
following a rising moon
in this
like in the back of a spoon
all minutes are held
all clocks stopped to watch
what is the essential, breath-held, tick-tock make-you-go-gosh
it's here
so watch

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