When I woke up today all I saw was
how everyone appeared like ghosts and shades,
even the most vibrant were empty shells,
not that anyone notices. I wish
I could explain how the living are dead
when they cry from terror or joy straight out
of the womb as new-born infants. I could
kiss each and every baby as time hides
eager to devour the stars. Empty hulls
ugly with rust, small fish crushed under cold
pathetic feet, careless, thoughtless indeed.
To watch the sea and observe time, deep, proud,
obviously enigmatic, silent,
diminished by nothing, not finitude,
as a limit to the boundless, the vast
yawning chasm we catch smoking a blunt.
Absent, the kind patience not to impede,
leaving each child to fend for themselves, fist
lifted high, heads look down, bowed before God.
I cannot affirm or deny my gut
sense that this world is without certainty,
although Professor Moore holds up his hands,
words cannot prove what intuition knows.
Words spoken and printed like a sentry
act vigilant while others sleep. The hounds
sniff the hands of ghosts and shades while time gnaws...
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