There are those who speak
for hours on end
about other fragments of the land
we call each other
like rocks sitting in a river
unable to not ignore
the water flowing by

and I sit listening
like the melting of a candle
flickering the imminent
waxlessness of my creation
with nothing but nods to add
to my fluid disposition.

There are reagents being burned
by the fire spinning boys
making art in the dark
out of the shooting stars
that we are
left no trace
until something was injected
behind the expansion of consciousness
that looks like a universe
or a puzzle
or a mask
that when revealed
collected everything
behind the curtain
of the dead event horizon.

4 thoughts on “People

  1. undergroundatypical

    I’m not sure if you’re comparing the subconscious to a black hole but the end makes me feel vaguely uneasy. I really like it!

  2. promehsa

    I love this poem! but I must ask, how did u put it in poetry format? just recently I’ve been having trouble with spacing for my lines in the stanzas


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