Take my visual fragments
And place them at the foot
Of an old chedi,
For I don’t want my queues
To scatter my own thoughts
Like a back alley
I’ve stood for too long admiring.
Take my meaning
And lessen it’s grip
For it crawls
And has not yet learned
The intricacies of
Falling and getting up,
Though these scuffed knees
Have surely tried
Against the pain.
Hold my hand and remember
That I’m not here for a long time,
This shall become dust
And my subscriptions shall expire
Like organics back to earth,
Like music into silence
For it is without question
That life surely begets death.
