Stochastic Bookmark

abstruse unfinished commentary

about correspondence



ruminating on the ruins of yet another day,
the inevitable evening, accumulating dusk;
ashen ceiling clouds occlude the ancient stars' debut;
unbending darkness penetrates the inmost radius.

we are those that came after those that eat their young,
that put the lie to what remains of their past attainments;
that which is now before us requires attention and deserves it,
but what then is our desert, if not in this timeless waste?