Infinite Disintegration

A static convulses spasmodic'lly,
Covering the dying constellations
That have been twinkling periodic'lly
In the twilight of my fascination.
The sky is white—somewhere between marble
And gossamer. It's something translucent
Juxtaposed over an inky jarble
And its waning, descendant glow crescent.
The muffle of distance, and the murmur
Of a warmer comfort, wallows and wades
In the background like a large-eyed lemur—
In a drunken jungle's canopy shade.
I vanish into it, crawling nearer
To disappearing to somewhere clearer.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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