Friday, August 6, 2010

There is an end to everything
And it is to that as men
Which we are drawn

The ocean’s edge
Thrills us
A sharpened knife to the palm of the hand

Its blackness though
Its deep middle darkness
Is the terrifying oblivion of origins
            All too much of one thing to bear

Men want the end
Crave the thing becoming the other
Blue sky to slate sea

Find us where we live
            On the perfect, unreachable horizon

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