- Tremors
- It
rattles the bones of the dead
- and the
not-so-dead
- with
jagged licks
- scraping
the blackboard in our spines.
-
- We roll
our eyes like nervous mares
- and stare
- at the
earth beneath us
- but
feeling, more than seeing
- we wish
for firmer ground
- and try
to forget there's no such thing.
-
- Sometimes
a chasm, mostly not,
- and
seldom do the mountains fall;
- but the
place I'm standing now
- despite
my eyes
- is such a
fragile thing
- I'm
reminded often enough.
-
- This vast
plain we call truth
- floats on
an ocean whose name I can't speak
- but with
a tide whose pull
- calls me
down
- and
rattles my bones.
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