I
you
they

A tide
heralds
new birth

Perspective
is blindly
grabbing stones

Sympathetic;
the open guesture
and subtle curse

What must I beget?
The curved sins of life
and fresh creation

Follow former fictions
to tomorrow's dawning
The path into the dark

Clambering up the mountain
Is that tatty flag still ours?
Or just a single prayer

A girl is an ice-split log
All symmetry and lying rings
And thawing in the sun's morning

The seventeen bruises on your arm
And the twenty-three bleeding hangnails
Before the submerging into earth

The thin veneer of life on some eyes
Hollowness as a concept isn't wrong
But nothing happens in a dull, spring lane

04/18/2011

Posted on 04/17/2011
Copyright © 2025 Ben Evans