Is
Pummeled
Dirt
And cosmic
Spat,
A shoreline
Of
Alien coast,
More fictitious than thunder
Disappearing
Between the fingertips of the moon,
Is utter non
Sense
Played without jest,
A box of giggles
Forgotten of hat,
A grave contest drawn in
The dust of stars.
You will not know the self.
The self is not enough.
But you will burn nonetheless.
The Self
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Love this. “But you will burn nonetheless.”
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Thank you. I’m very glad you liked it.
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