a rock spins around another rock in the ground
made from sheets sewn with thin lines of timeand a ball made from fire burns earth
scorches sky and bleeds underneath
to feed the weed and vine
and the polyps did arise
evolved and organized
then civilization
through dawn of creation
read its own end and felt its demise
but its soothing,
when the sky is bleak and your mind is weak
the clouds are constantly moving
and given this position
this purpose is the nurse
i hang by the skin of the thread of this curse
upon return from past collapsed
the state of dreams far back were in tact
but now in fact are black and wrinkling
the universe will laugh and wink
oh wait, i think i wasn't thinking
the closer i come to content faith
the more i feel i'm sinking
and punctuality is the virtue of the bored
this anthology seems to serve no reward
postmortem is a dark corner
in which the toll i can't afford
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