anoxia

[constantine]

sink

the black putrescence
even the mother rejects you
you have gone too far

she has a mind of her own
and speaks
the language of the gods
you thought them dead
but they were sitting right next to you
all the time, all the time

you are living under a false assumption
all your plans are suspect
you have sculpted a mountain
and created a desert
an effrontery to the inanimate

gravity weary, impatient
molten iron churns beneath your feet

[stilltrucking]

Your voice
chills me to th bone

I am saying voice but I suppose I mean poetry

it shines

[constantine]

thanks jack. i like this poem, too. i've gotten away from more serious work as of late. mainly because of time restraints.