Graveyards

painted skull comp

Where do we bury the words
we didn’t say, our silent
protests—do they die
with our bodies, encased
in the skull, still afraid to move
the hand, the jaw bone?

Regret is relentless–
thoughts become blurred,
bordering madness and crossing
into the places where nothing
connects, nothing fits,
everything rests only in disease.

We try to hard to reverse
time, spinning wheels
in a landscape of quicksand–
in a landscape of chasms
that open like cut veins
spilling every trace of life.

The sky has already fallen,
abandoned even by
the phantoms of what was left
undone—this place is beyond
haunting–subtract everything
you thought you knew.

Add it to the ending.

painted skull don't look comp

Some old paintings and a new poem for earthweal’s weekly challenge, shifting baselines.