cocteau-esque

The blur of time, prismatic and refractal, casts its spiraling shadow across my silo 

It marches, not with a military stomp, released from a bludgeoning crass rhythm, but it instead skitters around, whispering its arrival through the sudden feeling that, you are now no longer where you were 

That moment, feverish in its brevity, now is lost, now inhabiting a smudged part in your own psyche 

What can one do, when you are with those you love, and you feel the cotton glow of life cast around you

And then, each second pasts and that glow becomes a brooding shade, where one can only lie in for but a moment

Every moment becomes a pre emptive funeral

The corpse fitted with beautiful sparkling fabric, the coffin varnished with charcoal oak

Reviews

[fallon]

“Every moment becomes a preemptive funeral”
That line says it all there. Deep and dark. Focusing on the end and every moment being the end. It’s beautiful though. I enjoyed reading