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feet in fading precision

by Jim Benz


Walls of sun-dried clay
Valleys of ruin
Unearthly hours
Under a sun-dried gaze
To admit our repetitions
This was dreariness
The unmistakable boundary
The source of dry waters
The smell of dust
The graves we dig
The front steps that sag
The bare facts
That haven’t been properly gutted
Sticking their necks out
Silently across the border
Shrouded in redundancy
& Pure shining bodies
& Pocket bones

fade fade fade fade a tedious way of living
fade fade fade fade fade a dreary way of living
fade fade fade fade in redundancy and thirst

In a way this is living
In a way of dying
In a very dull way of being
In a dying odor
Hands on hips
Fused into claws
For denouement
Forced but undetectable
Eyes bleary
Even without a body
Completely decayed
Busy with dying
Beneath the dreary motions
Beneath a sun-dried sun
A sad way of living
An empty coffin
A meal of dust
A gray windblown furrow
A dirt poor measure
A complete understanding
A clear dry rivulet

07/11/2012

Posted on 07/11/2012
Copyright © 2020 Jim Benz

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 07/14/12 at 01:20 AM

Sometimes it is hard to love/enjoy the truth but that is not the case here. What is hard is knowing that I could lose my pension and still live better than half the world. Good write Jim.

Posted by Laura Doom on 07/14/12 at 10:11 AM

Reads like a retrospective, looking forward to the present, delivered from a point of piled assessments that defy sub-categorisation as the abstract translates a symbolic void. Write x, read y, cue z.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/14/12 at 11:41 AM

Excellent capture of ageing, life and death, Jim. Nicely capped with that unforgettable title.

Posted by LK Barrett on 07/26/12 at 12:59 PM

Spare, elegant, bitter...a facile combination that is perfect for the subject. I need a moisturizer after reading this. great write! LK

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