So, easily
the world rotates on axis --
still -- as
it had before,
and makes
its slow revolutions
as dictated
by the sun.
Our frail little existence --
paltry.
While
millions of stars are held in place
and glow
from light-years away,
we lie
we laugh
we tire
we die.
And the
marrow of life
has yet to
be extracted --
Our bones brittle
behind counters,
cubicles and desks.
The man
signs another check.
The woman
wipes the table
with a rag soaked in grimy water
so shallow
in the bucket,
you can see to the bed.
And
returning it, she wonders
how full and
dark it is
in bodies
outside her little tributary.
No comments:
Post a Comment