The end of motion
across the sky rushes
Indeed its death moves faster
and draws me out like an empty sillhouetted
Picture of trees.
How I long for those lonely suburban days
When the sky encircled above
All movement was eliptical
The distant motor hummings and commotion
Deposited in a beautiful center
Around my cul-de-sac
I would sit upright like a rigid frame
Pretending the overgrown grass
Had blew falling specters
Whose shapes were deified by then
they would droop across the sky, like sad tendrils in the wind
His white beard had traveled there too,
Under the sunset
Before I tripped on the lawn’s sprinkler
And fell onto my back,
I stayed there.
Watching the vision,
The refracting bright swirls of light
Reminded him of the infinite consciousness
That thirst for reinvention had brought them.
He’d turn to stone there
Waking on the lawn to the sprinkler he had realized
How ingrained his artificial madness had been.
And the panoply of
That literal lust to know
The terrain now so full of sin,
Blew his vision back out across the sky
Until their specters had fallen from the horizon
Forcing the sun to form another lonely ellipsis
Back around the earth.
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