the lines of eden

awake on the street
my fellow dust
the lines of Eden sag from overuse
we are history condensing
thirsting ignition; at best
condemned to charity
and decline

how many ways this march can end
trooping dissonant into the buzz
of a lost mathematic
or wrinkling gentle curves
into thistles
in the corners

remember
only one thing
slipped away slowly
into centuries of ache
and became the sore orbit
of our moth-trails
in this night

one thing only
useless and alone
bearing seed

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Copyright © 13-May-1997 abrupt