Dust
The finite disintegrates beneath me.
Folly promises made with no glue
Nothing solid between me and you
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Your soul didn’t solidify between us
Curses and profane bitter waters
Flowing underneath - a cistern
I’m learning churning waters
Best to stroke
Then believe all these old folk
Promises made in their youths
Bequeathed to me
Wearing a white gown
A virgin! Hark!
Still none to be found -
not me they look
Whilst it all crumbles around
I asked you - beg you I plead
Once I thought you to lead
May now I found -
You more rich in the ground
-
Rather then in my pocket
No change left to be found.
Fathers and bees -
Which love the most?
Pollinators both.
One in a hurry to prove worthy
The other - a bumble
Slept on my white gown.
Gentle kind sir.
Do not tarry to sting.
The welt you leave doth raise
Questions and quarrels
No answers I have yet found
As I stand- here-
On this disintegrating ground.
