dust

this flight of fancy
fickle though it may be
defines so very nearly you

your angry urges
these too petulant dirges
merging strident anger and sorrow

your private passions
madly dancing like demons
with sweet voices and torn skin

how little did i know
this damning demanding you
cruelly cursing and ever dismissive

how foolish my ambitions
despair masquerading as hope
my soul loping across brittle decay

this night be ended
bending briefly and repentent
to claw this clay into most fecund dust

Dead Horse Point

Dead Horse Point, Utah

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