Futility

[Lykren]

Internal Heaven declines
these scatterlings - crumbs of color,
pools of wider darkness
smoothed over, lesser branches.

Truth’s mechanical touch billows out,
the impatient ornament of sleek desires.
It leaps into the still heart,
the echo chamber pouring into
its reflection, fictional glass, the track
of your wide-open eyes across the room.

Up high, the day removes
tingling currents, the dim dust,
our considered end. Snowlike, the months
continue carrying us downhill,
below the sight of of ourselves,
toward supernatural immobility,
death’s enchanting song and specter.

[Mohammad Ahmad]

OK Lykren, that's good of you

[Lykren]

Thank you Mohammad.

[Lykren]

edited version:

Internal Heaven declines
these scatterlings - crumbs of color,
smoothed-over pools of wider darkness,
branches white and lessening.

Truth’s mechanical beauty billows out,
the impatient ornament of sleek desire.
It leaps into the still heart,
the mind pouring itself into
your reflection in fictional glass, the track
of your wide-open eyes across the room.

Outside, the sun removes
tingling currents and dim dust,
a brief, illuminating flight.
Scurrying, the hours
continue to carry us downhill
past the image of ourselves
toward supernatural immobility
under noon’s unpeopled shadow.