8.04.2016

poem: infinity

infinity

now the dust
has settled,
thick enough
to write the
truth
in fingerprints
that reveal
our histories
despite ourselves.
we can
wipe it away
with dirty rags
or bundles of feathers,
but it will keep coming back,
the dust of us,
our dead skin
floating
through the air
visible only in the light
of the sinking
sunset
through equally coated window shades,
until it reaches
the end
where it waits
to be stirred up
again.

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