tired
impatient
pertinent
stifled air
with
spring perched
on it’s discontent-
vacant anticipation
leaning against walls-
trees heavily heaved
their last offering
to the night;
not enough
to save life.
masks compensate
for wasted bodies;
carcasses carried around
sometimes dragged
by sunsets and rises-

and this darkness
the color of fresh pomegranates bursting
in your mouth-
last traces of night
linger in the room
the color of the shirt
you wore that one time
you thought was enough.
walking to it
you
gather the light in your porous hands

fragment-beginnings
listless endings
they keep failing
through the fascia
onto the floor
and through it
into nothingness
that sits at the bottom
of this fragile house.

symmetrical rising of the day
it’s heady presence
your unprepared self
recoiling fetal

and stillness so delicate
your whispers may break it
a two thousand some fifty five pieces
a year of 365 sunsets
years that equal your waiting
for nothingness to end.

…

Dee is from lahore. loves old trees, words and surreal nights~