this armoury of self

fate does leave
footprints 
light and soft
as seagulls on sand

our skin
pulled from inside us
like spiders' silk
aims to mend...

holds the cogs of time
in taut suspension
inertia’s physiological grip

and so we hide the past
mostly
our webs still active
catching the morning dew
to gleam
        this armoury of self

only massive days
(their hurl
    and brutal crashing)
      blunders holes
            insensitive as tourism

    and leaves us cliff-like
our auto biographies
written on our faces

    and in the sky 
a Parthenon 
      of tear tracks

6 thoughts on “this armoury of self

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