Hours spell the seconds
Past the minutes which
we dwell
Footprint swallows
footprint
Upon this path
becoming, a brittle, shallow shell
Phonetic lacerations
Pronounce their truths
in blood
A blistering
apocalypse
Inscribed by quivered
thumbs,
Leave us here abandoned,
Forcing forth the
question,
“Just how
far is it that we’ve come”
It’s quite natural, to fear
the answers questions form,
Tomorrow’s but another speck, connecting what we
want, to where we’ve just come from
By
sinkholes yet succumbed.
…Be still thy bitter
tongue…
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