Friday, August 10, 2012

in any new dispensation

our moorings are torn

from the beds of sands beneath ageless seas

and we are adrift in a flux

that shattered generation after generation

of empire and custom and limits of consciousness

only the mercy of a god could contain

or the mercy of our blessed smallness...

grains of sand taking flight with each gust

to settle in new arrangements of some pliant landscape

the dust and dirt as old as creation itself

the energy itself there from the start

but the arrangements of matter as unstable as mere thought

in the same as ever dispensation...

Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

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