I find my way through

maps of passage. Labyrinths, koans,

convolutions of the inner ear

confuse and discourage me. Hindered I veer

and hurry. With documents forged,

and stamped, visas mark arrival and departure

in the utopias of the ever distant

always near. Without reference to anything outside itself

lashed to the sky, the waning moon

darkens. Its absence invoked at every turning,

a sun that never rises leads me on

Bones float in a sea of blood, someone’s

breath hammers

the waves. Here is the end I sought

No sign no light no muse

but this

distant sound I hear

like a spike shattering stone,

like dirt

falling in an empty grave

like sleep

that never comes

that weds

and devours me in its eight legged





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