… few endure.

By J. K. McDowell.

September 2017

 

This darkness is sticky, more like napalm than grease.

I am lost burning beyond a soothing coolness.

The question saves me, how much more can I endure?

 

They circle, high, out of sight, but your scent is an

Easy trail.  We need these vultures of conscience

To pick clean our hypocrisy.  Some pieces endure.

 

We debate the Spiral – its meaning in crash space.

The crypto-key dissolves in the bright discussion.

Rest assured my Friend, everything will not endure.

 

The mailbox is full of the stings of scorpions.

There is not enough time to plan anything.

The future ruined your reunion, yet you endure.

 

Help us James, aren’t you the brother of Jesus?

The promised ending never comes.  Please, tell me how

Many more second comings do we have to endure?

 

See this geomancy traced in the desert sand?

You know the spelling of words that are not spoken.

Poets share an understanding that few endure.

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