11 November 2015

dolor

half-finished
heavy
poured out upon this
thankless ground
the air itself punctured
precisely, in
carefully measured intervals
by shards of silver
stagnant
silence
when, again,
the world zooms out
tips on its side--feints--faints--falls--
the way it used to when
back when
and then
again
the sickening silent lurch
and turn into a wild
skid, air cracking like windows
bursting into clingfilm-covered coarse
quartz sand
the very ephemeral air, the one and only air,
solid as a jewel and
twice as sharp.




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