12/30

Burnt Norton

the sky is a rattling foul

misting the weeks I possess

leaving the depths out to dry and missing growth

blameless the ignorant, watching from the kitchen panels

the carvings whisper sin, sin, sin

they scream up my neck and roll onto my chest O

little dancer, the one I want around my fingers

the illusion is captive and crushing in the night

I saw the legs around his waist, vanishing cabinet consciousness

I command you to forget, to not feel, to push the mind like river

like always, like walking forward with no backwards glance

remember scorched earth, like fires, like crisp leaves melting into the air

I comb the blackened remains,

seek diamond,

and finding coal, disappear.

 

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