sand
rumbling waves
rave reviews
dead theatre
no one's here
feet stained and
memories stolen
crabs crawling
mangrove forest
walk on wood
distance twists truth
a killed thing
clouds raining water
flows cut roads in two
poisoned, dying
earth that grew
washed off lies beneath
bare in dim light
old eyes, new sight
covered up with
dreaming floods the waking world
the future's curled
like flowers, or dance
practiced, and so entrancing to behold
how does hope grow old
dusty and filled with dew and grime
chewing the divine in it's jaw
cycle through motions
immature but sure
glacial in change
yet glaciers arrange themselves away
pain suffuses
dripping bruises
forgetting through this
we remain the same
no start, no middle, no end
moving forwards through the sand
this is in some sense
my eye
my flesh
my blood
the sky
reaches higher than I ever could
i have never understood
myself
i struggle
i cuddle my face in my hands
and carve out valleys and lakes
in unplanned lands
it's no use
so loose and disconnected
obtuse thoughts and misdirections
cover up my form in lies
a mirror for the mind
perhaps would work
to look inside
and see it there
as much as you can bear
wishful thinking
a mirror hides as much as it shows
rows upon rows upon rows
of tiny mirrors in your skull
to know oneself is a fruitless endevour
for mirrors are the fruit of the soul
water reaches your feet, brine
licks at your heels
laughing you feel
too many things
to fit in your
too many hearts
you don't know how you got here
but how could you forget
so many memories
and yet
sweat drips from your shoulders
frame shaking with baited breath
when the time comes
you will know it
by the shape
of the nape
of it's neck