In The Puff Of Its Exhaler

Marjoram and bits of tempest
A spinning glowing disk twirls, in a corner, on a string
The candle blows itself out, in the wind of a thought.

I wanted to count the days, lazy, like smoke
Intertwining, meshing like those layers of the levitated dust
Coming to life.
They’ve nearly reached the critical
The mass of doubt, so perfunctory
That assembles in the dark corners of a universe
Where no one pretends

I’ve left them, the switches, the to’s and fros, which stretch and reach like glassy waves
That’s the place, when no one’s looking, for it to rise out of the glowing, ..
Of course no one’s looking, there’s no one there to look.
That’s in the sadness, again, of the ”puff” ..that is missing an exhaler, its source..
In the plain and simple destruction

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s