Earth does not forbid, yet the smell of earth remains forgotten. Inner strictures have little bearing to the outer plenitude which seems more and more like a shell, to be shucked, only to be worn as adornment to protect an inner quietude, a sanctum of disconnect.
I have forgotten the smell of sand
as it sifts through
My intentions. I have received
little in the way of
Relevance when I quote the high
To time. And they shriek a silent
shriek to silence the
Evolution of their ghosts, masks
tired of introspection.