The flashing beam of ghosts,
the diminishing pots of hollows,
I see death and fate crossing hands,
Time is flying,
And you are dwindling…..
I curse not the eve,
but I bless the eyes,
nothing will ever seem fresh,
As frequently as the clock ticks,
I see the moon blurring,
  . . . I am not fate,
Slime potions,
Swallowed by inks…..
I am,
Breathless and,
Stung by the bee….
Life is a real race,
      I want to raid,
         Raid unto race,
I wiggle to hell,
And you still, drilling yonder
Alignment of lures….
Lord save me low….
It deems me to dream,
      and feel the heals of fingers across me….
I am a hunter,
Caught in the dilemmas of loops….
I am…fainting below…

The Village Thinker © 2014

6 thoughts on “Flashes

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