#1113 - top of the game

 

18.i.23

1113

4.18

top of the game

 

where forever

must resound

 

we

wrestle a certain shape

here there midst

constantly repairing

 

shirt of my sweat

a comfort until

 

skin whiff

and those stars of the dark

 

iron talons

pencil touch

 

worship ecliptic till

 

a fur of rind we go

sensible of meant

a mould

 

fallen

falling

 

all slept with

sky in the highest

 

rescue in the moment just

 

another day grows over

 

keep self a path open

way out too

 

best of

gathering pace

 

fast marks, slow

 

overdone or never at all

 

someone has to fall apart

someone has to sink

 

making always the larger puzzle

 

in the vastness of the work

so gone

 

this little ball

all far