Monday, June 5, 2017

paint and rust

there is an old stairway
on the terrace,
inviting death -
paint peeled,
skins revealed,
growing rust,
disappearing
a little everyday,
into itself.

and there is a voice
that looks the other way,
to life and living,
thinking about shrouds -
how to paint these skins
to last
as long as there are eyes,

when the nature of everything
is to rust.
to mate with everything else,
to change and be changed,
to die into the life
of this glowing, growing dust.

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