SANDAL WEARS FOOT
Is God but a vain projection to cover up
your fear of Nothingness still?
It seems a bit deep, while I sip my cup
and giddy light flees over the fell…
a lone star comes out, or a satellite,
then another appears near its side,
as Night arrives with the inks of Night
and the moon wears her pioneering ear-ring wide…
the transience of all we love is shown
by the fleeting of the light of day.
It wasn’t until my story was known
that I realised I was not to say.
A driftwood artist, my mother is out
tending to the town in the business of Care,
and soon she’ll return, always devout,
and park the last functioning car.
It is rude to stare but still I am here,
and the poets life can be quite dull,
while out to sea, the golden sphere
of the sunset is a plush, dying skull.
Oceans smile with liquid eyes
and fill themselves with rain;
it would be ample to have said that, I surmise,
as the stars start to shine once again.