Writing Down the Bones

By
Some letters and all my regrets
fall from the ends of my fingertips
lending form to remainders of dreams
lost in the hollow of my spent lips

but words in this hieroglyphic world
flaunt themselves into obscurity
resounding the unattainable
ruffling their faded impurity

everyone sought something once
but nobody ever found it;
there is nothing to understand there,
as our language never bound it

yet my faltering voice still stains the page
giving this corpse its tuneless way
remembering not to forget itself
without anything to say

it is not good all this nothing –
seconds full of nothing in all –
but the door does not close perfectly,
and it hurts to watch my universe fall.





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