Death Dust

We love in lines,
living linear
in a cosmos
of erupting energy.
As we follow rules
and paths
created by serial man
but the beginning
is the end, and the end
begins again–

These lines
parallel &
blaze beneath my veins.
Paths were meant to bend
and geometry is sacred,
a round, ripe womb
so here is what I have to say:

This point A to B
love we seek
can’t be graphed.
Passion consumes my soul
my heart is the moon
guiding tides and sky,
the stars are all dead
but burn with life.

We’re all connected, created
of this magic death-dust
and the anomaly
of our rotation
on segments and rays,
a calculation
we can’t compute
because our distance
from the sun
and love
is really nothing–and the same.

What we seek
isn’t on the straight
and narrow, but beneath
the fray and worlds
within and away. Linear love
is a myth
and Cassiopeia,
a reminder seen year round.
Her downfall,
a dead selfie in the firmament
not unlike
the Insta-snapshots
of today.

Love lies in layers
and fluidity
and viscera.
It’s not about the
LOOK-at-ME. It’s about
the scintilla
below the surface
and the substance of the soul.

The authentic love
we seek
is within–





© Grace Black

Poetry Month continues and this is Day 2 of NaPoWriMo for me. 30 poems in 30 days. Do you dabble in word play as well? Let’s create 30 in 30.

Love and Ink,



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