Monday, February 3, 2014

These gates are always swinging

(it's not easy for everyone)


These gates are always swinging:

they screech,

squeal at each other.

These gates are jaws;

without partners,

they are harmless.


Now a field of pistons;

here work is the law.

Day and night they strain;

groaning up, collapsing down.

These pistons are muscles 

betrayed by all.


And this, the room of wings;

hold tighter.

These wings flap, frighten the air;

have pity on the wings,

they have no direction,

only agitation.


And in the end,

here molecules disband.

Unmoored, we fall;

terrorized by incomprehension
we scream into eternity.

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