Clockwork Quintessence

A superfluity of roses
nested on a tomb -
I dwelt in this camouflage
wearing my yellowing bones
amongst these similitude

I consented with the strings
that played my rhythms
and plucked my limbs;
I never grew tired
because I'm beyond quietude

The hands of the world
molted the dirt and clay
and rubbed its surfeit palms
to stir the blue ethers
in its stagnant sleep

The inevitable is upon us
and looking back only erupts
my frangibility open to infections
so please don't confront me
with my failures and abjections

Let me lie here unbeknownst
of the skimming in my skin,
soundly exhumed and unfiltered
on my discourse with destruction
and other lustrous things

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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