Poetry & Prose

living the seventh day

here: living in the heart

of silence like windless wastelands we

were eyeless now infinitely I-less enisled

inside the interstices annihilating the immense

singularity we were here: living the seventh day restless

and fighting the slow erosion of moon-boned cheeks

wet from swallowing back the black beneath

comprehending the consequence of its own dissolution

the spectral beads roll soft like hands for ablution

with each quivering breath: a quell of the essence

heard churning underground as it echoes incessant

hammering harmonies into the emptiness so long-

unfulfilled floods the poetry of pierced lungs and

here: living the vocation silence always strove to shed

through the spooling loops of a sun ray’s thread

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